


Wings of Fate

by WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-12-09 02:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes/pseuds/WeOnlyEattheUglyOnes
Summary: Rayne was perfectly happy with her life of solitude even if she was hiding. A Knight of the Round Table trapped out of his time was a complication she could do without. Can the two of them get their act together before time runs out?





	1. Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time publishing one of my stories, please forgive me if any of the formatting is screwy. I’m sure I will get better as I get use to this platform.  
A little background. This takes place in modern Alaska and Tristan if from an AU King Arthur where both he and Lancelot survive the final battle. I have mixed in some bits of classic Arthurian legend to add to the story.  
I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 1: Out of Time

He watched the house from the shadows of the forest that surrounded the farm. He had come across the farm during the late hours of the evening the day before and had settled in to watch and learn what he could. This forest was unknown to him and he had no idea how he came to be here. It was completely different than the forests and rocky plains that surrounded Arthur’s fort on the wall in Britannia. The mountains around the valley that held the farm were taller than any he had ever encountered in the land of his indentured service to Rome. He had been walking for two days in those mountains before he came across this valley and farm. He was going to just pass by the farm and follow the stream. If he continued to follow water downstream, eventually he would come to a village of some kind and maybe he could find out where he was. But something stopped him, and he decided to try to find a few answers here instead.

He had settled in for the night at the base of a large tree to watch and learn something about what was going on. It was late enough that the inhabitants of the farmhouse were asleep. The goats and chickens had been put away for the night also. Two dogs were sound asleep on the porch of the house. He was careful to stay downwind of them so they wouldn’t catch his scent and start barking. He was slightly alarmed when a third dog, a great shaggy white dog, roused itself and started barking. But it was facing away from him looking out into the forest on the other side of the farm, and the other dogs didn’t even raise their heads at the noise. The white dog proceeded to bark for almost the entire night. That made it difficult for him to get much rest, but he had gone for longer with less in the past and would be fine. His hawk perched on a branch above him and had no trouble sleeping through the night. Traitorous bird!

Near dawn, a light was lit in the house and the dogs on the porch started to stir. He could see movement through the window on the side towards him, but he could not make out any details. Nor could he tell how many people were moving about.

As light started to peak over the top of the mountains, the door of the house opened, and a figure walked out on the porch. At first, he thought it was a young girl. She was slim and short, her hair pulled back from her face and held in place by several slim braids wrapped around the long mass of honey colored curls that reached almost to her waist. However, when she turned to present her profile and the faint morning sunlight shone on her, he could see the gentle swell of her breasts under the strange, form-fitting, light blue shirt she was wearing. Several strings of beads and thongs hung around her neck and adorned her slim wrists. She was wearing a flowing dark blue skirt that swirled around her ankles, its hem stained and frayed. Her feet were bare, and she held food in one hand and a drinking vessel in the other as she leaned against one of the timbers that supported the porch roof. She watched the goats stirring in their enclosure as she ate her breakfast. She gave the last half of it to the two dogs sitting attentively at her feet, took one last drink of her beverage before turning and going back inside.

Moments later, she emerged again, this time with a bucket. Pausing at the steps, she looked around the farm, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she shrugged and stepped off the porch and headed towards the goats, the dogs on her heels.

Rayne Sweetwater hummed to herself as she approached the goats. She had just got back two days ago from her annual trip to the trading post to pick up supplies. She hated being gone from her farm for the three weeks the trip took by horse and wagon, but there were no roads to her valley, so a truck was not an option. Also but mid spring was the best time to make the trip. Her garden was planted and wouldn’t need attention for at least another month and her goats were not yet kidding. But going to the trading post made her uncomfortable. She felt exposed. So, she always rushed the trip and ended up forgetting something. This year, she made a list and only missed a couple of minor items. She had even splurged and bought a tin of cocoa powder and a bag of sour gummies. She spent most of yesterday putting away the wagon load of supplies, so today was going to be busy.

In addition to the day to day chores of the farm, there were chores that accumulated during her absence, and there was always the spring to-do list. She needed to clean out the goat shelter and chicken coop as well as weed the garden that had been ignored for three weeks. The fences around the farm needed to be checked and repaired and kidding stalls needed to be set up in the barn. The pile of spoiled hay needed to be moved to the composting area. Finally, there was a small leak in her cabin’s roof that needed to be repaired.

Opening the gate to the goat pen, she was greeted by her five does. One of them had kidded early and had a set of twins following her. She pulled out the milking stand and the oldest doe, Angelica, hopped up on it, ready to be relieved of her milk. Rayne set the milking pail under Angelica’s udder and started milking her. After a couple of irritable kicks, the old goat settled down and started munching on the handful of grain Rayne had put in the small feeder.

Her goats milked better when she sang to them, so she picked a song and started to sing. She didn’t think her voice was that good, but the goats seemed to like it and nobody else was around to hear anyway. She smiled to herself as she sang and milked her small herd.

He was getting ready to creep closer to the house and try to get a look inside to see how many people were still inside, when the woman began to sing. He froze in place and just listened to her voice. He couldn’t understand the language, but the words and melody of the song were haunting, and her voice was captivating.

She sang several other songs after that one as she finished up with the milking. At one point, she stopped again and looked around. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that she was being watched. But the dogs were lounging in the shade and didn’t seem concerned. It must be left over unease from being away for so long, she told herself, and continued with her milking. When she finished the last goat, she carried the bucket of milk back to the cabin. Inside, she pulled open the trapdoor to her cellar and took the bucket of milk down and left it in the cool darkness. She decided that she would muck out the barns during the morning. The air still had a chill to it and the work would warm her up.

She grabbed a pitchfork, shovel, and wheelbarrow from the lean-to beside the cabin and resolutely set to work catching up on her chores.

She finished both the goat barn and the chicken coop by mid-day. As she was putting her tools away, her stomach growled, letting her know it had been several hours since her meager breakfast of a tortilla wrapped around a strip of smoked goat and goat milk. She giggled and looked at the three dogs that had followed her back to the house. 

“How ‘bout some lunch?” All three thumped their tails on the ground. They knew the word “lunch.” 

Rayne cleaned up quickly in the wash bowl in her kitchen. Then she went down into the cellar and took stock of her choices. That’s the problem with spring, she thought. At a time when life was busy returning to the land, the food choices were limited. The garden wasn’t mature enough to be producing anything that could be eaten. All her expendable livestock had been butchered through the hard months of winter. Hunting wasn’t a great option because all the animals were thin from the long winter. She was so tired of eating dried, smoked, salted, and canned meats.

Sighing, she grabbed a chunk of the remaining smoked salmon, a jar of pickled cucumbers and onions, a bit of goat cheese, and goat milk. Before she left the cellar, she grabbed three dried fish off the rack for the dogs. She had thought to make some fresh bread yesterday with her new supply of dry goods. She cut two slices from the stale loaf, spread the soft goat cheese on the bread, and layered the pickled veggies and salmon. She took her sandwich and a glass of cool, frothy goat milk out to the porch. She gave each dog a fish which they snatched eagerly and then ran off to eat in private. She laughed and sat down to eat her lunch.

He had not been able to get into the house to explore all morning because her path with the manure took her by the porch of the house frequently. He had already figured out that she was alone on the farm which was curious. What was a lone woman doing living by herself this far away from anyone? It was a mystery that greatly intrigued him and kept him watching her, hoping for more clues. He was starting to wonder if he should reveal himself to her and just ask her his questions directly, but the few things he had heard her say to the animals, he couldn’t understand, so there might be a language barrier to overcome.

As she ate her lunch, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours. If she didn’t run screaming from him, would she be willing to share her food with him? Uncharacteristic indecision kept him in his hiding place in the shadows.  
About halfway through her meal, she grimaced and laid the uneaten half of the sandwich on the table and made a comment and laughed softly. Pushing away from the table she got up, left the porch, and went to a very small building on the edge of the clearing. It had a crescent moon carved into the door. From the unpleasant smell that came from it, he had guessed it was an outhouse.

When she shut the door, he realized this was his chance. The dogs were off eating, and nothing was between him and the house. He dashed to the porch and grabbed the sandwich. He also grabbed the vessel with liquid in it and tossed back the rest of the pungent milk in it. Then he took his prize back to the shadows. The sandwich tasted foreign, but not unpleasant and it was filling. He had to make himself slow down before he choked on it. He plucked a couple of chunks of the smoked fish out of the sandwich and tossed them to his hawk who deftly caught them and swallowed them down.

The woman came out of the outhouse and took a moment to stretch in the midday sun. Her eyes caught the light and he could see that they were a clear amber almost gold color. With the light honey color of her hair, they were striking. The slight epicanthic fold of her eyes combined with her smooth, tanned skin and high cheekbones gave her an exotic look that he had never seen before. 

She went back to the porch and stopped when she saw her sandwich was gone. She spun and put her hands on her hips and called out something in a scolding tone. The three dogs approached her with their heads down, looking surprisingly guilty while she continued to apparently chastise them for stealing her lunch. Tristan almost felt sorry for them.

She flopped down in her chair and grabbed the drinking vessel. Her brow furrowed when she realized the milk was also gone. She stood up and quietly went back into the house.

Ok, she thought, there is no way the dogs drank her milk from the glass without spilling it. She had felt like she was being watched all morning and now was a little spooked. She was naturally a cautious person and had learned to watch her back the hard way. But being out here for the last nine and a half years without being disturbed had lulled her a bit.

Its HIM!! Her inner voice screamed at her. She refused to panic. It might be nothing. She didn’t remember leaving any milk in the glass. But there was no reason not to take some extra precautions. 

Not that they would help if it was. Said that voice in her head. The voice was right. If it was Beck, then she was screwed no matter what precautions she took. She had managed to allude him over ten years ago, but that was just pure, dumb luck.

She took a bracing breath and thought out her options. If she was overreacting to nothing, then she was about to get all worked up over nothing. If it was him, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Ok, then, she would just go on with her day and just arm herself, just in case. She went to the wall and took down her compound bow and a quiver of arrows. Putting an arrow in Beck wouldn’t slow him down, but it might make her feel better to have put up a fight.

Just to be safe, when she went back out on the porch, she closed her eyes and released her other senses and reached out cautiously. Something more than her five senses flowed out of her and into the area surrounding her farm. It slid over the three dogs, who raised their heads and shivered at the sensation. Her goats stopped their grazing in the field when it touched them but went back to grazing when it passed. The chickens hardly looked up from their scratching, but they weren’t as sensitive as the goats and dogs.

When the flow moved through the trees and over him, the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stood up. He shuddered, not knowing the cause, and looked around for some unknown danger. His hand unconsciously went to his sword at his side and he tensed for a fight. His bird felt it too and squawked as she took to the air to escape the feeling.

Rayne was shocked when her senses flowed over the man in the woods beside her house. What the fuck? She really couldn’t see him using this sense, but she could feel his heartbeat in his chest quicken at its touch. It wasn’t Beck, that was for sure. Touching him with it was like touching something foul. The few times she had used it to sense him, she had felt physically ill. She didn’t feel that with this man. She didn’t sense any ill intent from him, just confusion and curiosity. She felt the steel of his sword and various knives, but no bitter taste of gunpowder from a gun. In the tree above him, she sensed a large hawk take flight.

Something deep inside her woke up and made its presence known. It purred and hummed under her skin like a great cat stretching. She did her best to ignore it and, letting her senses slide past him, she probed the rest of the valley and found nothing else amiss. He was alone at least. She pulled her senses back and opened her eyes. The beast under her skin did not settle back down. Interesting. What to do now?

She waited a span of three breaths trying to decide what to do. She was curious about the man, but was she curious enough to confront him? Maybe he was just passing through? Was he a spy for Beck? If she ignored him, would he just go on his way and leave her in peace. That was the most favorable option, and she was prone to optimism. 

The beast in her wanted to go investigate the stranger. It wanted more than she was giving it by using its senses and let her know its frustration with the limitations she placed on it. She usually ignored it and denied it access to the world around her unless necessary. This was why. It always tried to assert its dominance when she did. If she unleashed it, Beck would be able to sense it and find her. So, she closed her eyes and struggled to put the beast back to sleep. It withdrew reluctantly but would not subside completely. She needed to get away from the stranger and give it a chance to settle down.

Coming back to herself on the porch, she made a decision. She looked at the three dogs at her feet. “Let’s go fishing!”

Slinging her quiver and bow across her back, she went to shed on the side of the house and got her fishing supplies. Then she took off down the path that led to the brook that wound through the valley to the three lakes. Her goal was the largest of the three at the mouth of her valley. It held the largest and most plentiful fish. The prospect of fresh fish for dinner lifted her spirits and help take her mind off the stranger. Two of her dogs, blue heelers named Zorah and Ari, ran ahead of her down the valley. Her great Pyrenees, Gracie, stayed behind to guard the farm. She was too big and slow to keep up with the other two dogs anyway. 

Twenty minutes later, Rayne reached the largest of the lakes. She made her way to her canoe that she kept tied up on the bank and loaded her gear. “You guys be good!” she told Zorah and Ari as she shoved the canoe into the cold lake and jumped into it. She picked up the paddle and began to make her way to one of her favorite fishing spots.

Shaking to rid himself of the eerie feeling, he watched her walk along the brook until she disappeared into the forest. Should he go after her? Or should he use this opportunity to explore?

He decided on the latter and strode out of the shadows and up to the house. Inside was dimly lit by sunlight through the few windows. It was just one room with a kitchen and table on one side and a bed and chair on the other. A fireplace took up the back wall. He walked around the room, picking up items that were strange or interesting. The cabinets over the washing tub held sturdy drinking vessels, plates, and bowls with a fine, flawless glaze. Bright blue and pink flowers adorned them. There was a large iron structure with warm embers smoldering inside it. An iron pot set on its flat surface over a round grate.

The wall by the bed held books that were thick with hard covers. He picked one up and opened it, but the perfect, uniform writing inside was foreign to him. Not like the Latin of the Romans or his native Sarmatian language. There were several thin, paper covered books with colored, shiny paper. He picked one of them up. A beautiful woman with a garishly painted face smiled at him from the cover. He flipped through the book, not understanding the writing or most of the pictures. They seemed to be mostly of women in various forms of dress. All of them painted. There were many things in the pictures that he did not understand, and he tossed the book down in disgust.

On a table by the chair in front of the fireplace was another curious item. At first, he thought it was a vase, but there was a metal rod coming out of its mouth and a strange cloth canopy suspended from a metal frame. At the base of this strange vase was a flat, black rectangular object that was as big as both his hands put together. It was thin and shiny on the top side. It was so shiny he could see his face reflected in it. He placed it back on the table. There was a pad with lined paper on the table with writing on it.

He moved to the bed and picked up the pillow. It was soft and fragrant. He buried his face in it and breathed in her scent. She smelled like sunshine and wildflowers with something spicy and exotic underneath that he couldn’t identify. The bed was covered with an old worn quilt. In the corner of the room was a curtained off area. He went to it and pulled back the curtain, her clothes were carefully hung on a wooden rack and a chest of drawers was under it. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a bit of lace. It was a small triangle with strips of stretchy material. It looked like some kind of slingshot but wasn’t sturdy enough to be that. He snorted. The drawer had several versions of it in different colors and fabrics. Perplexed, he put the bit of lace back into the drawer and closed it.

The trap door to the cellar was cleverly hidden under a rug, but he was the best scout in Britain. He instantly felt and heard the difference when he stepped on the door. He moved the rug, lifted the door and descended into the cellar. It was cool and dark. He could smell the variety of meats and cheeses. There were jars full of foodstuffs on the shelves lining one of the walls along with a few bottles of wine. The wall behind the stairs was made of rock and there was nothing stored there.  
He made another decision. He picked several sausages and a small wheel of cheese up and stuffed them in his pack. Back upstairs, he grabbed the rest of the stale loaf of bread and added it to the rest of the provisions. He left the house and whistled to his hawk. He had stayed long enough and should get going if he was going to reach a village soon.

He strode off the porch and right into the large white dog. She looked mournfully at him with her brown eyes and her tail slowly wagged back and forth.

He held out his hand and the dog stepped forward and put her head under it for him to pet her. “Not much of a guard dog, are you?” he asked her. Her response was another tail wag. He patted her one more time on the head, then turned and walked toward the brook, following the direction the woman went.


	2. Failure to Launch

Rayne had caught only two small lake trout and was just about to call it quits on the whole fishing thing. Even her dogs had given up waiting on her and had wandered off. Surely, she had given the man enough time to decide to move on. She hadn’t sensed him disturb anything important in her cabin. Her magic wasn’t strong, but she was able to do a few simple spells. She had all of her most important stuff thoroughly hidden and set with magic traps. If he had gone into the cabin at all, he either hadn’t found them or, if he did, he didn’t mess with them. Which was good because if there was one thing that would drive her to unleash her beast and its fury, it was someone stealing something from her hoard.

Some of it she had inherited from her mother. She had picked through her mother’s hoard and taken several choice items and a handful of baubles that reminded her of her childhood. Then she had sealed what was left and collapsed the entire cavern on it and her mother’s dead body.

The rest of her possessions she had collected over the course of her long lifetime. One of her favorites was a beautifully worked emerald and gold collar that an Aztec priestess had offered her in return for burning a Spanish galleon anchored off the coast. She would have done it for free because she hated the Spanish and their inferno inquisition. They had burnt a good friend of hers at the stake for witchcraft. True, she had been a witch, but fuck, why murder her? She wasn’t hurting anyone. Humans. They were so hard to understand, even after centuries of living among them.

After she burnt the galleon to the waterline and it sunk, she went back and collected some more trinkets from the seabed. Then she left the rest. Maybe the natives could retrieve their treasure later. No need to be greedy. But, alas, apparently they didn’t because she read an article in a magazine back in the 80’s about some treasure hunter finding the galleon and its sunken prize. Well, at least it was on display in a museum now, instead of in the hands of the Spanish.

She was pulled out of her daydreaming about burning Spaniards to a crisp by movement on the shore. She smiled; there were two little bear cubs playing in the shallow water. Rayne let the canoe drift as she rested her elbows on the sides and watched them splashing around. She was giggling at their antics when another movement caught her eye.

It had to be the man from the cabin. He was walking beside the lake heading towards the mouth of the valley. Good. Maybe he was leaving her in peace. She watched him as he approached. He was tall and lean, but muscular. He was dressed in strange clothes that would have been more at home in a medieval reenactment. There was a sword belted at his side and a short bow slung across his back.

He walked quietly and smoothly through the wild tangle of growth along the lakeside. She could make out a tattoo on his cheek; two thick lines, almost like claws. His long, dark hair had several random braids in it that failed to keep it out of his face. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes through his hair, she sensed they were constantly scanning his surroundings. He gave off a sense of cautious alertness of someone used to being in the wild.

She knew the moment he spotted her floating on the water because he tensed, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. Rayne casually dropped her elbow off the side of the canoe and let it rest on her bow. He hesitated just a moment, then continued along the path that followed the shore of the lake. His eyes found the two baby bears, but he didn’t mark them as dangerous, he just veered around them towards the forest. Rayne knew better, she opened her mouth to call out a warning, but was interrupted by a roar from the edge of the forest on the other side of the man. The mother grizzly charged out of the forest straight at him.

“Run!” Rayne yelled and stood up, bow in hand.

He hesitated and looked towards her instead of running. Damnit! After a long moment, he turned and ran. By that time the grizzly was too close for him to get off a shot with his bow and taking on a full-grown grizzly bear with a sword was suicide.

The bear turned to follow his flight back up the valley, presenting Rayne with her side. She grabbed one of her big game arrows from her quiver, quickly knocked it, drew, and fired. The arrow flew true and buried itself into the bear’s side just behind the front leg. She must have missed the heart, though, because the bear only faltered a bit as it continued its charge. Even wounded, it was gaining on the running man. Rayne readied another arrow but lost the bear behind a large blueberry bush.

The man, sensing he was losing ground, stopped and drew his sword.

Shit! He’s going to fucking die!

Rayne was torn with indecision. There was no way she could get to shore fast enough to help him without unleashing her beast, which was the last thing she wanted to do. It wasn’t worth it for this stranger. But if she let the bear kill him, would that bring others to her valley? She stood immobile in her canoe as the man met the charge of the grizzly. 

To his credit, he knew how to use his sword. He was able to land two strikes before the bear closed the distance between them and they emerged from behind the bush. It had risen on its hind legs and was swiping at the man. His early slashes had not been enough to slow the angry mother grizzly down. In fact, the cuts had only infuriated the bear even more. It had knocked the sword aside and the man was on the ground in front of it, helpless. It dropped back to all fours to go in for the kill.

Rayne’s beast roared to life inside her and took the decision in its own hands – claws. She leaped from the canoe to the lakeshore and sprinted after the bear. Her approach was hidden from the man by the bulk of the bear. Rayne leaped and landed on the bear’s back. She wrapped her legs around its torso and an arm around its neck. With her other arm, she grabbed her arrow protruding from its side, twisting it savagely, and shoving it deeper, puncturing the bear’s heart. The bear groaned and dropped like a rock. Right on top of the man on the ground.

Rayne slid off the bear with a growl. She used the strength of her beast to lift the body off the unconscious man. She checked him quickly. He had a couple of slashes that would need stitches and a nasty bump on the back of his head from hitting a rock when the bear fell on him, but nothing life threatening. Disconcerting, though, was the reaction of her beast when she touched him. It got all jittery and possessive. Warmth washed through her body, making her nipples pucker and her female parts clench. She could have sworn her beast actually purred.

Really? You purr?

Her beast huffed at her and did the mental equivalent of a sexy stretch.

You have got to be kidding me! This is a human!

But she still had to get the man back to her cabin, so she couldn’t stuff her beast back down its hole quite yet. She picked him up and put him over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He was so tall that she was going to drag his head through some bushes on the way back to her cabin, but there was no getting around that.

You could change and just fly. Came a suggestion from her beast.

Do you want Beck to find us?? We might as well just send him a text! She mentally snapped back.

With a shudder, her beast quieted down and backed off. It didn’t want another encounter with Beck either. The last one was still a very vivid and unpleasant memory, even if the physical scars had faded.

Rayne hitched the unconscious man to a more comfortable position and took off at a run up the valley to her cabin. Behind her, she could hear the plaintive wails of the two bear cubs. She made a mental note to come back and do something about them later.

His head was pounding, and he couldn’t move his arms. He opened his eyes slowly and took in his surroundings. He was back in the woman’s cabin, in her bed. The bed coverings were tucked in tightly around him, that’s why he couldn’t move his arms. He heard the woman moving around, humming to herself in the kitchen. He turned his head slightly. Bad idea. Pain shot through his head and he groaned softly.

The woman came to the bed to stand over him. She said something to him in her language and she held out two little white pellets and something to drink.

He tried to sit up, but his arms were still trapped. Sighing, she set the pellets and drink on the table by the bed, loosened up the covers, and helped him sit up. He was startled to find he had no shirt or pants on, and his chest and left arm had bandages on them.

She said something else in an impatient tone and bent to help untangle him and ease him into a sitting position. Then she said something else to him.

“I can’t understand you,” he told her.

She stopped her movements and frowned down at him. She said something slowly in her language again. He just shook his head and repeated, “I can’t understand what you are saying.”

“You speak Latin?” she asked in confusion.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Nobody speaks Latin. Well at least not as their first language.”

“Well, I do.”

She snorted. “Here, take these. They will help with the pain.” She held out the pellets again.

He looked at the white things in his hand dubiously then back at her.

“Just painkillers. Go ahead, take them,” she made a motion with her hand.

He put the pellets in his mouth and started to chew them. The taste was horrible and bitter.

“No!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You swallow them whole with a drink of water. Haven’t you ever taken pills before?” 

He quickly took the drinking vessel from her, took a drink of the water and swallowed the nasty mass. He finished the entire vessel she had given him but there was still a bitter taste in his mouth.

She plucked the vessel out of his hand and crossed back to the kitchen to put it on the counter. Then she turned around and leaned back against it and quietly assessed him. Her frank gaze made him uncomfortable and he returned it with a frown.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she broke the strained silence.

He just gave a slight shake of his head.

“Do you have a name you would like to share, or should I make one up? I’m personally leaning towards ‘Dickhead’ right now.”

The man choked out a short laugh. At least he had a sense of humor.

“Tristan,” he said.

His voice was deep and slightly rough. Her beast did a roll inside her. It was starting to get on her nerves and was making it hard to concentrate. But she couldn’t shove it back down no matter how hard she tried. It was obviously taken by this stranger. She needed to get him out of her cabin and on his way as quick as possible before this got out of hand.

Lovely.

Yesss, he is….

Shut up!

Her beast gave her a mental pout. Rayne shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Tristan?” He nodded. “I’m Rayne.”

“Rayne,” he said slowly, as if tasting the word. Her beast gave another roll.

Stop!

“Where am I?” he asked.

Rayne snorted, “In my cabin, specifically, in my bed. Which is going to make sleeping tonight difficult.”

He shook his head and tried again, “Where….”

“Denali National Park. The north edge. Almost 250 miles due north of Anchorage.”

“Anchorage?”

“Yeah, Anchorage. Alaska.”

“Do the Romans rule here?” He asked but his words were starting to slur, and his eyes were starting to droop.

“Well, chewing those pills made them work faster,” she said.

He tried to say something else, but it was unintelligible, and his eyes closed. Soon he was slumped in the bed, sound asleep. He was out. Rayne went to his side and slid him back down into the bed and covered up his chest again. It was really distracting uncovered. Hard and muscled with some random tattoos and multiple scars. She just wanted to run her hands over it. Her beast was begging her to do so. At least they were in agreement on something!

She decided to distract herself by going through his belongings to see if she could find some answers. She started by looking through his clothes she had removed to tend his wounds. Her cheeks burned when she remembered pulling off his pants only to find out he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Look again. Purred her beast.

Stop it!

You might have missed something.

Shut up!!

Her beast sighed and subsided for the time being. What was up with its reaction to this guy? Tristan, she corrected. After their last encounter with Beck, she certainly wasn’t interested in any physical relationship with any man. She shuddered at that memory which effectively quenched both her and her beast’s interests in Tristan’s manly attributes.

His clothes were strangely anachronistic. His shirt was a loose, unstructured garment with a drawstring tie at the neck. The padded black leather garment he wore over it laced up each side under the arms. It had provided him with some protection against the grizzly’s claws or his wounds would have been far worse. His pants didn’t have a zipper, instead they also laced up in the front. They were made of a thick, course material she didn’t immediately recognize. She sniffed it cautiously. Under the smell of sweat, blood, and countless other unpleasant scents, she smelled…

Sheep. Supplied her beast, licking its imaginary lips at the thought of mutton.

Ok, it was wool. Who the hell wore wool pants? Apparently, he did, she sarcastically answered her own question.

His boots were worn, soft leather that laced up – surprise! – to just under his knees. Their soles were just reinforced leather. His belt held sheaths for his sword and two daggers. She pulled his sword out of the sheath. She wasn’t an expert on swords but had been around long enough to be familiar with them. She had even trained to use a few and had carried them on her person in the distant past. There were a few in her hoard also. This sword looked like a Dao from China. It has a slight curve with a single edge. The handle was wrapped with worn black leather and could either be used two-handed or one-handed, depending on the strength of the user. She could tell it was well-balanced, but a bit too heavy for her. She preferred lighter sabers. But is was a very elegant weapon.

Placing the sword back in its sheath and setting it aside, she went back to her inspection of his clothing. There were no pockets to go through. That fact just added to the mystery that was Tristan.

She turned her attention to his pack. It was a simple bag with a strap that could go across the shoulders of the wearer. Again, no zipper, just a simple drawstring. Inside, she found flint and fire-starting material in a small pouch, a sharpening stone, a small utility knife in a sheath, a spare pair of woolen socks, some leather thongs, and a few other items she couldn’t identify. Nothing modern or electronic. Not even a compass, map, or watch. She pulled out the food stuffs that he had taken and set them on the table.

She picked up his bow next. It was obviously handmade and well worn, the wood in the center worn smooth from use. Was that actually catgut? She sniffed it. Yep, definitely some kind of animal gut.

Sheep. Supplied her beast.

The arrows were also hand made. The tips made of iron and attached with more catgut.

Sheep gut.

She tried to draw the bow but didn’t have the strength to pull it more than a couple of inches without drawing on her beast. Well, he’s strong.

Did you see his muscles? 

She sat back and pushed her hair out of her face with a sigh. There were no answers to be found here to explain this strange man that apparently spoke a dead language and dressed like he was from the deep past. 

Maybe he is from the past?

Really? Have you ever heard of someone time traveling?

No.

He is probably just fucking with me. There has to be another explanation.

She would just have to wait for him to wake up. In the meantime, she had evening chores to do and a canoe to fish out of the lake. Guess it was smoked meat for dinner again.


	3. Time Long Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize to those of you reading this. I thought I had posted all the chapters, but apparently not. So here is the next chapter!

Two hours later, a dripping wet and very irritated Rayne walked back into the cabin. The afternoon had not gone well. First, her goats were agitated because her beast was so close to the surface. They had kicked over two buckets of milk. Then her buck got a little too friendly and had come up behind her while she was filling his hay feeder and butted her hard enough to knock her over. Getting up, she had snagged her skirt on the hay feeder and ripped a big hole in it.

Then she went down to the lake to retrieve her canoe. The two baby bears were still standing by the corpse of their mother squalling loudly. She wasn’t sure what to do about them other than put them out of their misery, but she hadn’t brought her bow with her. When she approached them, they ran off into the forest. Oh well, she would deal with them tomorrow if nothing got them before then. There were other predators in these mountains.

Her canoe had floated several yards out into the lake and was riding low in the water. When she had jumped out of it, it had rolled over and taken on quite a bit of water. It was upright now, but she figured all her fishing gear was on the bottom of the lake. Luckily, it wasn’t too deep here, maybe she could find some of it. The pole was store bought and she wouldn’t be able to buy another one until next year.

She waded into the lake. The water was frigid still. About halfway out, it became deep enough that she had to swim the rest of the way. When she got to the canoe, she was delighted to find that the two fish she had caught were swimming around inside it.

Yea! Fresh fish!

Laboriously, she swam back to shore dragging the canoe behind her with its rope. When she got to the shore, she pulled it up onto the bank and tied it off. Then she went back into the lake after her gear. She was a pretty good swimmer. Another one of her favorite treasures was a pearl almost the size of her fist. She got it diving off the coast of the Philippines. The giant clam that it came from had not wanted to give it up and had clamped down on her arm. It hadn’t counted on the fact that she wasn’t human and, after she turned her beast loose on it, she not only had a huge pearl, but also a tasty dinner of clam meat.

She found her pole and tackle about fifteen feet down, but her net was nowhere to be seen. It took several dives to get the line untangled from the rocks, but she was determined to save her hook. Her reward for her efforts was to get the hook snagged in her hair and embedded in the flesh of her thumb. Now she was bleeding.

She got back to shore just in time to see the baby bears disappear into the forest with her fish. When she went to the canoe, it was empty of both fish.

Damnit!

After cutting the hook to get it out of her thumb, she stomped back to the cabin in a black mood. Back at the cabin, she grabbed a towel, and looking at Tristan to make sure he was still sleeping off the effects of the pills, she stepped out of her wet skirt and peeled off her wet top. Clad in only her lace panties, she dried off and wrapped the damp towel around her hair. She walked over to her wardrobe and dug out an older dress. It was a simple deep red, silk dress with a handkerchief skirt, totally impractical on the farm, but it would do for now. The hem only came down to her knees and the bodice clung to her damp skin.

She took the towel off her head, turned to grab her brush, and met the dark eyes of her guest. He was laying still in the bed just watching her.

“Like the show?” she snapped at him.

“Worse sites to wake up to,” he replied.

She snorted in an unladylike fashion and proceeded to untangle her mass of hair. She bumped her thumb and yelped. It started bleeding again. She threw the hairbrush across the room and stomped over to the cabinet where she kept her first aid supplies. She cleaned up and dressed it in a few minutes and took the time to take a few deep breaths and calm down a bit.

t was starting to get dark in the cabin, so she went over and turned on her table lamp. One of her best purchases had been the two solar panels on the roof of her cabin and the battery pack. It wouldn’t run a refrigerator, but it was enough to power a couple of lamps and keep her cellphone and tablet charged. She took them with her every year to the trading post and used their Wi-Fi to download more books and games for entertainment during the long winter nights.

Tristan frowned when the light clicked on. He looked at the lamp quizzically.

“What? No lamps where you’re from?” she teased.

He slowly shook his head.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Another slow shake.

“Who the hell are you and where are you from that you wear medieval clothing, carry a fucking sword, and have never seen a lamp?” She demanded, coming over to start down at him.

“Why are you living here alone?” he countered.

They locked eyes, neither one giving in for several long minutes, before Rayne broke contact and turned away.

“It’s complicated,” she said, shortly, as she picked her brush up off the floor and went back to work on her hair.

This time he was the one that snorted. “It usually is with women.”

She turned her back to him and concentrated on her hair to give herself time to think.

****

Damn women, he thought. They were more trouble than they were worth. Look at all the trouble Guinevere had caused Arthur and Lancelot. She had convinced Arthur to stay and become the king of Britain and then got involved with Lancelot. Arthur hadn’t been the same since he found the two of them together. Now, instead of the brotherhood he had grown up with, Lancelot was gone, and Arthur had taken to drink and fantasies about some magical cup. Gawain and Galahad were in the north chasing some mysterious witch with Merlin, and Bors was trying to hold together the alliance with the Woads. No, Picts, he corrected himself.

Better to stick with whores. They didn’t expect anything from him except coin and he didn’t have to worry about any little bastards running around like Bors. He was free to come and go as he pleased.

He had been out searching for a band of bandits that had been robbing traders traveling to Camelot. It was a simple task, but it got him away from the oppressive atmosphere at the fort. He had ridden past the lake where the witch that everyone called the Lady of the Lake lived. Another woman causing trouble. She had predicted the fall of Camelot and it seemed to be happening. She had also predicted the downfall of Merlin. That had yet to happen as far as he knew.

As he rode near the south shore, she surprised him by stepping out from behind a tree and into his path. He was the best scout on the island, and she was able to surprise him. It put his teeth on edge and made him more brusque than usual. 

“Step aside, Woman, before you get trampled.”

“Tristan, Knight of the Round Table, well met,” she replied calmly, not moving out of the way.

He nudged his horse and crowded her. If she was afraid of the unpredictable warhorse, she showed no sign of it. “I don’t have time for any of your witchery, nor do I care. Move!” and he urged his horse past her, shoving her roughly to the side.

“Take heed, Knight of the Round Table,” she said, unperturbed. “Beware the dragon. It will bring you to your knees, and it will give you what you most fear and need.”

Tristan shook his head and clicked to his horse to speed up and leave the witch behind.

“Beware the dragon. Let your heart and your aim be true or else be lost forever!” She called to his back as he galloped away.

He tried to put the witch’s words out of his mind as he continued his search for the bandits. Towards evening, a heavy fog rolled in and he was forced to stop for the day. The fog was so thick, he could barely make out the shapes of the trees around him. He made a cold, damp camp in a small clearing and spent a restless night. The witch’s words kept repeating in his thoughts and he had vivid dreams about a golden dragon.

He woke up with the dawn feeling less rested than when he stopped for the night. That was when he noticed the profound change in his surroundings.

He had to get some answers and figure out how to get back to Camelot.

He watched Rayne furiously brushing her hair. He had to admit, she was glorious. When she had stripped her wet clothes off, his body had instantly responded. Lean and lithe with smooth, golden skin stretched across lightly muscled limbs. A flat stomach that flared to shapely hips and a tight, heart-shaped ass. The tiny strip of lace did little to cover her mound that he was surprised to see was devoid of any hair. The sight made his cock throb.

She was strong, agile, and fearless that was sure. When she had leaped onto the back of that huge bear, he thought they were both dead, but then she had grasped her arrow and drove it home, killing it instantly. He could have sworn, though, that her eyes had shown with a golden light as she clung to the bear’s back. But that was probably just a trick of the light or perhaps the blow to his head. Regardless, he needed to get out of here.

Clearing his throat, he answered her question.

“I’m from Britain. I’m a Sarmatian knight in King Arthur’s court at Camelot.”

****

Rayne was pulling her hair hard in her irritation at the man. Despite what her beast thought, she needed to get him healed and out of her damn cabin. She didn’t need a man around, screwing things up for her. Especially a human man, no matter how sexy he was. She had lived here in isolation to hide from a man and she wasn’t going to let this one screw it up.   
Besides, she reasoned to her beast, if Beck found him here, he would kill him and punish us.

He’s going to punish us anyway.

Yeah, but do you want Tristan caught in the middle of one of his rages?

No, but…

No, anything. He has to GO!

Just then, he spoke and answered her question.

“I’m from Britain. I’m a Sarmatian knight in King Arthur’s court at Camelot.”

She turned and looked at him incredulously. “You’re a knight in King Arthur’s court? As in ‘knights of the round table?’”

He started. “You know of us?”

“Sweetie,” she said sarcastically, “everybody knows of you.” She laughed. “Either you hit your head harder than I thought or you are certifiably insane!”

He didn’t laugh. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, hell, where do I start? One, it is generally agreed by scholars that King Arthur and his knights are a myth made up of several different legends, some true and some made up. The consensus is that there was never really a single person called King Arthur.” She stopped and held up two fingers. “And, two, even if King Arthur and his famous knights were real, they lived and died over a thousand years ago.” She stopped again and looked at Tristan with a smirk. “And you don’t look a day over one-hundred!” Not to mention that even during her time over four hundred years later, the famous King Arthur was not mentioned. She agreed with those that said he never existed.

Tristan looked confused. “What year is it?”

“2019,” she replied, laughing. “Why? What year do you think it is?”

“413,” he answered.

She stopped laughing. Grabbing a chair from the table, she dragged it over to the bed and sat down. 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” It would explain the clothing, the sword, and all the other weird things.

He nodded.

I told you!

“And you’re from Britain?” Again, a nod. “Well, you are not only in the wrong time, you are on the wrong side of the world. You are over four thousand miles from Britain! It’s all the way across the north half of this continent and across the Atlantic Ocean.” She looked up at the choked sound he made and felt a little bad for him.

“Do you know how you ended up here?” she asked in a softer tone.

Briefly, he told her about the fog and waking up in these mountains. It was pretty hard to believe, but, hell, she WAS a dragon and could use magic in a limited way. She had known real witches in her lifetime that could do a lot more than she could. It wasn’t too hard of a stretch to believe that this man had been transported through time and space.

“Do you think that Lady of the Lake had something to do with it?” She asked. 

He shrugged.

She got up and started to pace. Now there were new questions to be answered. Who or what sent him here and how could he get back to where he belonged? He wasn’t going to do well in this time. She said as much as she paced.

“It doesn’t look much different than Britain. Except for the mountains.” He said.

“Oh, no.” she exclaimed. “This,” she gestured to the cabin around them, “is NOT how most people live now. I have chosen to live out here away from everything with no running water, no electricity, no cable TV, no cell phone service, no cars, and, most important of all, no people.” She started pacing again. “Most people depend on technology and machines to do all the work for them. They work crammed into small spaces in buildings at jobs produce nothing tangible. They live in vast cities with buildings that reach into the sky. Most people have never touched a horse or a goat. They go to the store and buy their food, or buy it already made for them.” She stopped and shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t do well out there at all.”

Can we keep him? 

No!

He looked skeptical. She walked over to her bookcase and pulled out a couple of magazines. One was National Geographic, and it had an article about the mega cities of Asia. Another was an older catalog for Fingerhut. She walked over to him and opened the National Geographic to the article and handed it to him.

“Not all cities look like this, but this will give you an idea.”

He took the magazine from her and slowly looked through the pages. After that article, there was one about the disappearing marshlands of Florida. He held that out to her, “Not everything looks like that,” he said.

“Yes, but nobody lives there. People like me and places like this are getting more and more scarce. The governments of the world own most of the land like this. Either that or private landowners. Even this place costs me a good deal of money every year. Do you have any money?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not with me.”

She hung her head. Getting rid of him wasn’t going to be as easy as she had hoped. She couldn’t just send him out there to fend for himself. She could give him money and send him on his way, but he would still be lost out there. She needed to find a way to get him back where he came from. She had the beginning of an idea form.

“Could you lead me back to where you first woke up here?” She asked.

“Yes, why.” 

“Because if magic was used to transport you here, then there might still be traces of it there and it would help me figure out how to help you.”

“Are you a witch?” he growled.

“No, but I am familiar with magic,” she answered. “And I’ve known some really good people that were witches, thank you! Now rest, you need to heal, and I need to gather some supplies for the trip.” With that she went over to the trap door, opened it, and disappeared into the root cellar.

****

He wasn’t sure what to make of Raynes explanation of where and when he. He knew he was a long way from Camelot, but across an ocean and a - what did she call it? – continent? He didn’t know what a mile was, but four thousand of them was a long way no matter how it was measured. As to the year she claimed it to be, well, the images she had shown him looked like something from a nightmare. He didn’t understand half of what she had said and even less of what he saw in the images. How the hell was he supposed to get back? Her idea of going back to where he started was as good as any. Should he let her go with him or should he leave early in the morning and go by himself. He could move faster without her along. But, if she knew something of magic, she might be able to help. 

Damnit, it looked like he was stuck with her for now.

He didn’t mean to go back to sleep, but the pills she made him take and his wounds were still affecting him. He drifted back off to sleep and dreamed about the golden dragon again.

****

Down in the root cellar, Rayne went to the rock wall behind the stairs. She placed her hand on it and muttered the words “slamati qrbblali.” She removed her hand and stepped back. The rock wall rotated in slowly stopping with an opening just wide enough for her to slip through. Inside was dark, but she knew the way. The rock floor sloped down sharply several yards before opening out into a cavern. 

“Hla.”

From the middle of the cavern, a light flared and bathed the area with a golden light. This was no ordinary cavern. It wasn’t dark and damp. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were not rough and covered with stalactites and stalagmites. This was her sanctuary. She had hewed this area from the bedrock herself over many months. It was perfectly round with smooth walls and floors. A floating globe gave off light in the center over a velvet couch covered with pillows and a down blanket. This is where she kept her hoard. Her treasures. When one thinks of a dragon’s hoard, they think of piles of treasure strewn about randomly. Not here. She was organized. There were cabinets and shelves lining the walls, with hooks and hangers filling the spaces in between them. The floor was covered with expensive silk rugs. Her favorite prizes were on tables and displays around the couch so she could see them. She changed some of them out from time to time depending on her mood. It wasn’t the biggest or richest hoard. That of her mother’s was three times bigger than this. But then, her mother lived to be much older than she was now. Maybe one day hers would be that large. 

Not if we keep hiding from Beck.

Her beast was right. In the nine plus years she had lived in her cabin above, she had been too afraid to venture out and hunt for any new trinkets. Beck had taken even that from her. Her hands curled into fists and her fingernails dug into her palms.

It wasn’t right. Just because we are the last two of our kind doesn’t mean he owns me!

Damn right!

Dragon females have the right to reject the advances of any male!

She stood in the middle of the room fuming for a few moments, thinking of vile things she would like to do to him, before snapping out of it and remembering why she was down there. Her fingernails left bloody crescents on her palms.

She went to a cabinet on the wall and opened the second drawer down. There in a dark blue velvet case was the item she came down here for. It was a roughly shaped light blue diamond weighing almost 400 carats. It was the missing portion of the Great Mogul Diamond that had been cut in the 1600s. The jeweler that cut it had planned to create two perfectly matched stones, but this half had been stolen before he could finish it. The unfinished diamond had ended up in the hands of a powerful witch who infused it with a spell that could amplify magic. Then it ended up in buried with a Persian sorcerer who thought it would bring him back from the dead. She had found it while traveling near Ankara, Turkey. She kept it for the history and the magic, rather than its beauty. It might help her with this situation.

The problem was how was she going to use its magic and not alert Beck to her presence? If he hadn’t already sensed her after the incident with the bear.

He could already be coming for us, she thought with a sinking feeling in her middle. Her beast growled. She looked over at the wall opposite the chest she was in front of. A great arrow hung on it. Its head made from another great diamond, the shaft from bronze. It was the arrow used to kill her father. Her mother had saved it as a reminder that humans might be small and weak, but they were still dangerous. It had served as a lesson to her many times in the past, which was why her mother had gifted it to her when she left the creche to find her own home.

Never trust a human.

It was a lesson she had taken to heart for the most part. She had lived among them off and on for years at a time, but with the exception of just a few, she had never revealed her true nature. As her own kind dwindled in numbers over the centuries – dragons were never very numerous to begin with despite all the myths and legends – she had been forced to seek them out more and more often. There were some things that not even a dragon could do for herself.

With another look around at her treasure, she left the room. “Pabrati,” the light winked out. Back up the corridor where she uttered the word to close the stone wall. In her larder, she gathered some cured goat meat and some canned vegetables. She would make a stew for dinner.

Back upstairs, she saw that Tristan was asleep once more, so she quietly set about making the stew. Once it was bubbling away in the pot on her wood stove, she pulled a book off her shelf and sat down to read. After an hour, she got up and checked the stew. It was smelling good despite her being tired of cured meat. She ladled some into a bowl, cut a slice of bread and buttered it. She took it over to Tristan.

He had awakened at some point while she was preparing his meal. She helped him sit up and handed him the food. He took it from her, and she got her food and sat down at the table. They ate their stew in silence. He finished two bowls and the rest of the loaf of bread. When they were finished, She cleaned their dishes, then she gathered her first aid supplies and pulled the chair back up to the bedside.

“I need to change your bandages and check your stitches,” she told him and had him lay back down. She pulled the covers down to his waist and carefully removed the bandages on his chest. Some of them had stuck to the dried blood and she had to use a damp rag to loosen them without causing too much discomfort. Tristan remained silent while she worked, just clenching his jaw from time to time when she pulled too hard. To distract herself she focused on her task and hummed to herself as she worked. Once she had all the bandages removed, she cleaned up the dried blood and checked the stitches. They were holding despite her inexperience. She applied some antibiotic salve and rebandaged the wounds. She sat back to inspect her work.

“What is that song?” he asked quietly.

“Hum?”

“What was that song you were humming?”

She shrugged, “Just a song I know.”

“Will you sing it?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

She sat back and looked at him. She couldn’t think of a good reason without sounding like a complete bitch. She sighed, “Ok.”

She covered his freshly bandaged chest back up and flipped the covers back to expose the bandage on his thigh, careful to keep his manhood covered. To mask her embarrassment, she began to softly sing the song she had been humming.

She let the tune die away as she finished dressing his leg, and covered it back up. She rose and gathered her supplies to put them away.

“Why do you live here alone?” Tristan asked.

She shook her head and continued tidying up.

“There has to be a reason,” he persisted.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

He shook his head.

She sighed. She was doing a lot of that recently. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you must know,” she blurted before she lost her nerve, “I live here alone because I’m a coward and I’m hiding.” There! She said it out loud.

“Hiding? From what?”

“Who,” she corrected. “Someone who thinks I belong to him and won’t take no for an answer. I know that sounds weak, but he’s not a nice person.”

That’s an understatement! Her beast snorted.

“Anyway, I’ve been here for almost 10 years and he hasn’t found me yet, so it’s working.” 

She was still nervously moving around the room with her hands knotted in her dress to keep them from shaking. When she passed by the bed, he reached out and grabbed her hand to stop her. He gently untangled it from her dress, turned it over and examined the red nail marks in her palm. He smoothed his thumb over the marks, sending goosebumps up Rayne’s arm.

"It doesn’t look like it is working,” he murmured, looking up at her face.

She snatched her hand away. “It was until you showed up!” She snapped. She walked over to the trap door, pulled it open and started down the stairs. “Good night!” She said, not looking at him.

“Wait! You’re going to sleep in the cellar?” He started to rise from the bed.

“Don’t you DARE!” She snapped. “you need to heal so we can get you back where you belong! SO, STAY PUT!” She shook her finger at him. Then she reached over and flicked off the lamp, throwing the room into darkness, stomped down the stairs and let the trap door slam shut over her head.


	4. Human Touch

Tristan lay there for a few moments in the dark waiting for Rayne to come back. He hadn’t meant to make her angry. He didn’t even know why he had grabbed her hand. It was just that she seemed so out of sorts all evening. He knew he had disrupted her routine with his arrival, and he hated that he was wounded and couldn’t just leave her in peace. But she had been her for ten years? Hiding? Who was this man that she was so afraid of that she would willingly live in isolation for so long?

It almost made him angry. Maybe he had wanted to goad her into action. She was too young to live her life out here alone. She obviously wasn’t as young as she looked, he corrected himself. She’s been here for ten years.  
When she didn’t return, he threw the blanket off, and sat up in the bed. He grimaced as his stitches strained with the effort. He sat on the edge of the bed and let his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight coming in through the windows. When he could make out the furniture, he stood up. His head swam for a bit before settling. He walked over to the trap door and listened. He couldn’t hear anything. He bent over and pulled the trap door open and peered into the darkness below.

“Hey?” he called out, expecting her angry reply. When there was none, he slowly walked down the stairs. At the bottom, he looked around. He couldn’t see a lot in the pitch blackness, but he was sure she was not down there. He turned in a circle. Nothing. What the fuck? He walked around the edges of the room searching for another exit. Nothing. He could detect no breath of air coming from a hidden door. 

Tristan went back upstairs and grabbed a small branch from the pile of by the fireplace, went over to the stove and opened it up. He used the dying embers to light the end of the stick, then went back down the stairs. Once again, he walked around the perimeter of the cellar. The flame on the stick didn’t waiver. This time, though, he was able to see faint footprints in the dust behind the stairs, stopping at the rock wall. He pushed against the wall. Nothing. He searched it, looking for a handle or knob or something. Still nothing. Nonplussed, he went back up the stairs and shut the trap door.

“Another damn witch,” he muttered, putting out the flame and tossing the stick in the fireplace. He needed to get out of here soon.

****

Rayne spent the night in her subterranean cavern. She tossed and turned on the couch for an hour before giving up. She spent a while picking through her treasures, but not even that would take her mind off the feel of Tristan’s touch on her hand or what he had said to her.

He’s right.

I know.

This is not really living.

Since when was her beast the logical one? But it was right. Her life had been on hold for the last decade. Granted, a decade is just a blink of time in her lifespan, but how long was she going to cower here? Sooner or later, Beck would find her, she was sure of that. She was just postponing the inevitable.

She needed a better solution.

He wouldn’t look for us in the past.

What?

He wouldn’t look for us in the past.

Rayne started to tell her beast to shut up but stopped. It was a good point. The year 413 was before her time. She wouldn’t be born for almost another four centuries. Even then, she had two centuries before she would leave the creche in the Caucasus mountains. That would give her nearly six centuries free of Beck. It was definitely worth considering. But first, she had to find the place Tristan had come through and see if there was enough residual magic to power a return spell using the Mogul diamond.

She wandered back over to the couch and lay back down. She started making a mental list of the items she would want to take with her if she decided to do this thing and could make it happen. She fell asleep within minutes. That night, she dreamed about dark eyes and a soft touch on her skin.

****

The next morning, she woke up feeling better. She had a semblance of a plan. The first step was getting Tristan healed enough to make the trip. Smiling and humming to herself, she left her cavern and went up the stairs. Tristan was awake and in the kitchen. Obviously, he had found his stuff because he had his pants on. He was still shirtless though. He had her bag of sour gummies and was holding one between his fingers, examining it like it was something potentially harmful.

“I wouldn’t recommend that for breakfast, but knock yourself out,” she quipped.

He looked from the candy to her.

“It’s candy. Try it.”

He put it in his mouth and chewed it. His frowned and immediately spit it out into the basin. She went over and plucked the bag out of his hand. She grabbed one and popped it in her mouth and joyfully chewed it up. After swallowing it, she smiled at his glower. “I guess it’s an acquired taste.” She put the bag back in its canister. “If you can wait a bit, I will make some breakfast after I feed and milk the goats.”

“That would be better,” he replied. She laughed, grabbed the pail, and went outside to do her morning chores, leaving him puzzled about her change in mood from last night.

After milking the goats, she decided to make pancakes. It might be the last time she would be able to enjoy them. Come to think of it, she would miss modern food. 

Tristan leaned against the counter and watched her making the pancakes. She hummed happily the whole time. When the hot stack of pancakes was ready, she put them along with the butter and her two favorite jellies, strawberry and blackberry, and on the table. She showed Tristan how to properly apply the butter and jelly to the cakes: between each layer and on top. She watched eagerly as he put a bite in his mouth and chewed. This time, his eyes lit up and he smiled back at her.

“See! I told you they were good!” She laughed and took a big forkful herself. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the taste of the food. Halfway through her stack, she leaned back in her chair and assessed him. His color was good, and he was moving around fairly well. She had seen him grimace a couple of times, but that was to be expected.

“So, you feel well enough to go outside and get a bit of fresh air today?” She asked him.

He nodded between bites. “Yes.”

“I have several things I need to do, but you should be okay here by yourself. Just don’t overdo it!” She brandished her fork at him.

He nodded again. Then he sat back in his chair and gave her a serious look. “What’s down there?” He motioned towards the trap door.

She thought about it for a moment. “There’s an entrance to a cavern under the cellar.”

“I didn’t see any entrance.”

“You went down there?”

He nodded.

“It is hidden with a magic spell.”

“So, you ARE a witch?”

“No, I told you that already,” it was her turn to shake her head. “But I have known witches and they have done some favors for me.” There, that sounded believable.

“You’re not a witch?”

“Nope. Not even a little bit witchy here. I don’t even have a black cat!” She smiled.

He didn’t get the joke, of course. “A cat?”

“Never mind!” she waved her hand in the air. “Now, I have chores to do and a couple of bear cubs to round up.” She got up and reached for his plate. He grabbed it and pulled it out of her reach. “Ok, you’re not done yet. I’ll just wash it later.”

“I’ll wash it when I’m done,” he said.

“Ok,” she shrugged and reached for her plate. He grabbed it away from her also. “Hungry much?” she laughed at him.

He didn’t answer her, instead he just started eating the last of both their pancakes. She went over to the cabinet and brought over the pitcher of goat milk. “Here, you might need some more milk with that.” He nodded and took the pitcher from her. Then he mimicked her wave. “Go.”

“Yes, Sir Knight!” She replied with a curtsy. He snorted in response.

She was still laughing as she went out the door.

****

She checked her horses on the way to the lake. They were in a small meadow between the first two lakes on one of the valley’s slopes. They whinnied and came over to her when she whistled for them.

“Hey, Sweeties! How are my beautiful boys?” she cooed to them, stroking their necks. Spot, the dalmatian appaloosa, snorted and snuffled for her pocket. She usually brought them some dried fruit as a treat, but she was out until the next harvest. “Sorry, Darling! I don’t have anything today!” Spot snorted again and walked away. “Oh, don’t pout! We are going to go on an adventure tomorrow!”

She had already decided that Tristan was healed enough to make the journey tomorrow, if they rode the horses and took it easy. Taking the horses meant they could travel faster, and she could take more stuff with her. She still needed to ask Tristan about the terrain to make sure it was horse friendly, but she knew the valley and surrounding area well. They should be able to make it most of the way on the two horses. She hoped they could take them all the way and even with them back in time. Horses were valuable commodities in medieval Europe and would come in handy.

She stayed, stroking her bay paint, Izre, for a few moments more, then continued down the valley to look for the bear cubs. She just couldn’t bring herself to leave them to whatever fate might befall them. She wanted to check on them to see how they were doing.

She found the body of the mother grizzly. Scavengers have already been at the corpse. She was a little bummed to see that the hide had already been torn, normally, she would have tried to harvest as much meat as she could off the bear along with the hide. Bear skin made really good winter gear. But, if she wasn’t staying in the valley after tonight, it didn’t matter.

There was no sign of the bear cubs. She wandered in the forest around the lake for a while. She found some signs of them but didn’t see or hear them at all. She finally used her dragon sense to find them. They were high up on the mountainside in the den they had been born in. They were warm and full of the fish she had caught yesterday.

Rayne thought about climbing up to them, then she sensed something else. Another grizzly was close by. A young female that had just been abandoned by her mother to learn to fend for herself. Rayne watched them with her dragon senses as the young female nosed around the entrance to the den calling plaintively. The cubs called out to her. She crawled into the den and sniffed noses with the cubs. After a few moments, she settled in with the cubs and they all went to sleep.

Rayne pulled her senses back. Maybe the cubs would be ok if the young female stayed with them. She probably had a few hunting skills learned from her year with her mother. Rayne decided to leave them alone and turned back towards the cabin.

On the way back she was able to shoot a rabbit with her bow. Finally! Fresh meat for dinner! Her day was looking up.

****

Back at the cabin, Tristan finished up the pancakes she had made for breakfast and cleaned their dishes. Since his shirt was shredded by the bear, he picked up his leather tunic and pulled it on and went outside. His hawk squawked from a nearby tree watching him sharply. He wandered around her farm for a while. The farm was tidy and well taken care of, which was surprising with just one person to do all the chores. There were a few things that needed attention, like some fence that needed to be repaired and the floor of the chicken coop had a hole in it. He could fix those for her at the very least in payment for saving his life and tending to his wounds.

He searched for her tools and found them in a small shed by the barn. There were several scrap pieces of wood also, so he took one that looked like the right size, a hammer and some nails, and set about fixing the floor of the chicken coop. He was still sore from the attack and had to be careful, so he took his time. He could imagine the scolding he would get if he pulled out any stitches! Rayne did have quite the temper on her. He bet she was a sight to behold if she was really angry. He bet her eyes darkened.

She was starting to grow on him. She had a quiet, undemanding way about her that was easy to be around. And she was a good cook.

He shook his head. He sounded like he was assessing her for wife material! He reminded himself that he had no use for a woman to tie him down and that he was going to be leaving to go back to Camelot soon. He didn’t need the complication of getting involved with Rayne.

He next found the material to repair the fence and spent the next hour working. At one point, the tunic became too hot, so he removed it. It felt good to be outside working up a sweat instead of lying in bed.

****

When Rayne returned to her farm, she stopped short, seeing Tristan working on her fence. His shirt was off, and his muscular back and shoulders were on full display. The scars scattered across it only added to the sense of raw masculinity. Something fluttered deep within her.

Yummy!

You can say that again.

Can we go lick him?

She choked at her beast’s eager request and Tristan turned to look at her through a fall of dark hair. Her beast licked its lips. Rayne unconsciously did so also, then shook her head to clear her thoughts.

She walked across the clearing to him, put her hands on her hips and cocked her head up at him. “You are oozing.” She stated, her voice coming out a little shaky.

Oh, yes, he is….

“I mean, your wound, it’s, it’s oozing,” she stammered. She could have kicked herself. She sounded like a love-struck twit!

He looked down at the bandages on his chest and shrugged, “A little.”

She stepped forward and put her hand on his chest to grasp the bandage. Before she could lift it to check underneath, he covered her hand with his, pinning it to his warm chest. She could feel the solid beat of his heart under her palm. She looked up to meet his dark eyes. His hair was hanging over them, so she reached up with her other hand and brushed it aside. Instead of pulling her hand back, she touched her fingertips to the tattoos on his cheek.

“What do these mean?” She asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

“They’re my tribal markings from my homeland,” he answered.

She trailed her fingers down his cheek. He responded by threading his fingers through her hair at the back of her head and pulled her to him. He leaned down and softly pressed his lips against hers, just a feather’s touch. He pulled back a bit and looked into her eyes, then forcefully brought his mouth down on hers. She sighed and pressed her body against his, trapping their hands between them. She wrapped her free hand behind his neck and clung to him.

His tongue flicked her top lip and she gasped, giving him access to her mouth, his tongue pushing past her teeth and demanding a response from her. She had never been kissed like this before and returned his caresses hesitantly. He was all lip, teeth, and tongue and she strained against him, moaning lowly. Her beast mewled in the back of her mind.

He broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. Both of them were breathing hard and his heart was pounding under her palm.

More!

No, no, no! I can’t do this!

“Why not?” he asked.

Shit! She must have said that out loud! She dropped her hand from his neck and stepped back, tugging her hand free from his. He let her go.

She just shook her head and looked at him with sad eyes, then turned and fled into the cabin and down into her sanctuary before he could follow.

***

Tristan just stood there and watched her walk away. He didn’t know what had come over him. When he had turned and seen her standing there, she had such a tortured look on her face, he just wanted to make it go away. Kissing her was like kissing liquid sunshine. He had never tasted anything like that. He could still taste her on his lips and tongue. She had been so soft and pliant in his arms; he had wanted to pick her up and carry her into the cabin and have his way with her.

Reason slowly came back to him. It was probably for the best that she had stopped him and left. He was going home, hopefully, and she had her own demons to deal with. He went back to the cabin. She had dropped the rabbit on the porch, so he picked it up and took it out into the yard to skin and butcher. He gave its entrails to her dogs, earning him their friendship.

Back in the cabin, he built a fire in the stove and fried up the rabbit with some of Rayne’s garlic and herbs.


	5. Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING this chapter is where the story earns its rating. There is violence against Rayne and animals. I have marked the beginning and end of the segment, so you may skip it if you so choose.

When Rayne emerged from the cellar a little later, it was to the smell of dinner being cooked.

“Um, smells good,” she said with a tenuous smile.

He put some of the rabbit on a plate and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, setting it on the table. “Hold on a moment.” She held up a finger and went back down into the cellar. She dug around among her canned goods and selected a small jar and grabbed a bottle off another shelf. Back upstairs, she opened the jar and dumped the contents into a bowl and set it on the table.

Tristan looked at the contents of the bowl and up at her questioningly.

“Sweet pickled beets,” she said, stabbing a beet with a fork and taking a bite.

Tristan followed her example. He nodded and grabbed another beet. “Good.”

She tried the rabbit. It was a bit tough, but really tasty. “Good,” she parroted him and smiled a real smile this time. Then she popped the cork on the bottle of wine. It was the last one she had left over from last year’s elderberries. She poured each of them a glass and raised hers. “Cheers!”

He took a drink, nodded, and drank the rest in just a few swallows.

“Ok,” she giggled. “I’m glad you approve.” She poured him another glass and left the bottle by his plate.

Together they finished the rabbit, beets, and wine. She cajoled him into telling her a story about his time as a knight. He had her laughing at a tale about Galahad stealing a fresh pie from Vanorah, Bor’s woman. When he was finished, she actually felt sorry for the poor young knight.

Then he asked her if she knew any happy songs.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The two songs I’ve heard you sing were sad. Do you know any happy songs?”

“Of course, I do!” she exclaimed.

“Sing one!” he demanded.

She smiled. “Ok, smart ass!” Then she paused, trying to think of one.

He smirked. “Can’t think of one?”

“Oh, shut up!” she cried, grabbed a pillow off the bed, and flung it at him.

He dodged it easily, snatched it from the air and deftly threw it back at her. She wasn’t expecting such a quick retaliation and it hit her in the face and knocked her back onto the bed. She hit her head against the wall with a thud.

“Ow!” she said rubbing her head.

He chuckled.

“That wasn’t very chivalrous of you, Sir Knight!”

“I leave chivalry to the others,” he answered.

“Well, according to the legend, all of you knights of the round table swore an oath of chivalry.”

“Really? Just how do you know that?” he asked.

She got up and walked over to her bookcase and plucked out a volume. The spine read “Le Morte d’Arthur.” It was one of her favorite books and this was an original copy. She flipped it open carefully and paged through it.

“Ah, here we go! It says here that you swore to never to outrage nor murder, to always flee treason, to by no means be cruel but to give mercy to him who asks, to always do to ladies, gentlewomen and widow succor, to never force ladies, gentlewomen or widows, not to take up battles in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods, and to fear God and maintain his church.” She nodded with satisfaction and looked up at him.

He snorted in derision. “What a load of shit.” He walked over an took the book from her. “What does it say about me?” He opened flipped through a few pages.

“Let’s see,” she said and took the book back from him. She paged through it again. “Ha! That explains a lot! You were the court fool!” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“It doesn’t! You made that up!”

“Ok, smart ass, you read then!” she held the book out to him.

He rolled his eyes. “What does it really say?” he asked.

She laughed. “Ok, ok, let me look.” This time she did look. “Here. It says you were the son of the King of Lyoness.”

“Son of a king?”

“Yep.”

He snorted again.

“Remember, I told you that the legend of King Arthur is a jumbled-up collection of a bunch of different tales, most made up?” He nodded, somewhat mollified. “You were actually most well-known for a story about your love for a woman named Isolde.”

He started. “Isolde is the name of my hawk.”

She laughed, “Then you, Sir, have been a VERY naughty knight!”

They both chuckled.

In a bit, she sobered up. “I think you are well enough to travel. Do you want to leave tomorrow?”

He nodded.

“Can horses get to this place?”

“Most of the way. They would have to be led the last bit.”

“Ok, I’ll pack up some stuff tonight and go get the horses after breakfast.”

He nodded again.

She stood up. “Good night, then,” and started towards the cellar.

“Wait! You can sleep in your bed. I’ll take the cellar. Remember that oath?” He quipped.

“Oh, no!” she said with a violent shake of her head. “You are not getting into my sanctuary! Good night!” she said forcibly.

****

Damn stubborn woman! Why the hell would she rather sleep in the cellar instead of her own bed? It didn’t make sense. But that was a woman for you.

Tristan went to his pack and took stock of what he had. Not much. But then again, he didn’t need much when out on scouting missions. A spare shirt would be nice, he thought.

He went over to the lamp. She had showed him the switch that turned it on and off earlier. She had tried to explain how it worked, but he didn’t understand half of what she said. He turned the lamp off and went back to the bed. He picked up the book and turned it over in his hands. After a moment’s thought, he went over and put it in his pack. Maybe there was someone back at Camelot that could read it. The others would get a good laugh out of it if nothing else.

****

The next morning dawned brightly. Rayne came out of the cellar in good spirits. She has spent the evening going through her hoard and had picked out some of her favorite items along with a goodly amount of gold coins that would come in handy setting up a new life back in the year 413. She was sad about leaving the rest of it behind but reasoned that it would still be there waiting for her when her reached the year 2019 again.

Tristan was already up when she emerged. She grabbed the milk pail and went out to tend the goats. Her dogs greeted her with their tails wagging.

“I’ll get your breakfast in a moment!” she laughed. “We are going on a trip today, babies!”

After milking the goats and feeding her chickens and dogs, she made the two of them a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, cured sausage, and goat cheese. She made a mental note to pack some more sausage and cheese for the trip. As they ate, she asked him where the place was located where he woke up. At his description, she nodded.

“I think I know this place,” she said. “If it’s where I think, if we approach it from the west, we can ride the horses the entire way. We should be able to make it there before sunset today.”

“Good,” he nodded.

They cleaned up their dishes and Rayne gathered a few things from her wardrobe and the extra food. She figured she was going to have to buy new clothes when she arrived in 413 anyway, so she didn’t need much. She would get her stuff from the cellar at the last moment so she wouldn’t have to explain why she was taking so much with them.

Maybe you should just tell him your plans.

What if he says no?

It’s your magic. He has no say in the matter.

Huh, you’re right.

Of course, I am!

Mind made up, she turned to tell Tristan her plans. Just before she could say anything, she heard a faint thrumming and her dogs started barking.

NO!

NO!

She jumped up and ran over to Tristan. He looked up, then stood quickly at the look of panic on her face.

“What?”

“You have to hide! He’s here!” She managed to get out past her chattering teeth.

“Who?”

“Beck!”

“Who’s Beck?”

“The person I’m hiding from! Come on!” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him towards the cellar. He didn’t move. Instead he went to his pile of stuff and grabbed his sword. The sound of the approaching helicopter was getting louder.

“Oh, no! That won’t do any good! You have to hide! Please. Please!” She pleaded desperately.

Beck will kill him if he finds him!

I know!

Something in her desperation convinced him. “Ok, let’s go hide.”

“Grab your stuff!” She said shoving it at him. 

She ran to the trap door, ripped it open and sped down the stairs. He followed.

Thank the Gods!

She pulled him behind the stairs, put her hand on the stone and uttered “slamati qrbblali.”

Tristan jumped slightly when the stone slab slid inward. She shoved him through the opening and yelled “Hla!” down the tunnel. He looked down the tunnel at the golden light and she took that opportunity to jump back and commanded the stone to close. The stone slid back into place.

There was no time to lose. She ran back up the stairs, shut the trap door, threw the rug over it, then went out on the porch to face her worst nightmare. Her heart was racing, and she was shaking.

She heard the helo land in a clearing lower in the valley, just out of sight of her cabin. She clutched the porch rail, her knuckles white. She struggled to get her breathing and heart rate under control. Out in the forest, she glimpsed the moving shadows of Beck’s   
security team. He never traveled without them. One of the dogs yelped and then went silent. Her heart dropped.

Beck strode out of the forest, looking around like he owned everything he surveyed. As always, he was dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit of the most current fashion. His white hair was styled short and his icy blue eyes glinted in the morning sun. He had the face of an angel, but the soul of a demon.

“Rayne, beloved! So, this is where you’ve been hiding all this time?” His voice was deceptively smooth, like silk over steel.

“What do you want, Beck? I told you no last time, and my answer still hasn’t changed!” She snapped.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend after all this time?” he asked, spreading his hands wide in greeting.

“You are not my friend and you are not welcome here!”

“Rayne, Rayne, Rayne….” He tutted.

Suddenly, he was on the porch beside her. She jumped back in fright.

“Why do you insist on fighting me? You know there is only one way this will end, right? We are the last two dragons. You have no choice. You’re my mate, just accept it.” He said darkly.

“I will die up here alone, before I ever become your mate!”

*****WARNING!! Violence ensues against Rayne and animals! Skip to the next break if you don’t want to read it. *****

She didn’t see the backhand coming and it nearly knocked her down. Her lip split.

“You have no say so in the matter!” He yelled in her stunned face.

“I have every say in the matter! You can’t mate me without my consent!” She yelled right back.

Dragons mate for life, and both parties have to consent to the union in order for it to happen. That adaptation has kept countless females from being forced into unions over the millennia. It had been the only thing that had saved her from him for the past few decades. Sex was also affected by this rule. Without properly mating, a dragon could never obtain release during sex. Yes, they could have sex, but it was purely a physical act with no pleasure involved. Most dragons abstained until mated for that reason alone.

“Say the words, Rayne!” He yelled.

“Never!” She screamed.

He hit her again, this time with his fist. She still didn’t go down and decided she was through cowering. 

Get him!

he struck him back with all her might. His head snapped to the side. He put up a hand and touched his face and chuckled.

“Feeling feisty, huh? Good. I’m going to enjoy this!” And he struck again.

She fought back. Hitting, kicking, and scratching. But she was smaller and weaker than him and didn’t stand a chance. She was finally reduced to curling up in a ball on the ground at his feet as he kicked her. Her nose was broken, her cheek split open, and one of her eyes was starting to swell shut. She was pretty sure she had a cracked rib or two.

The beating stopped and he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. She swayed in front of him.

“Say the words!” He demanded.

She spit in his face as her answer.

“So be it.” He snarled. He spun her around and slammed her down on the porch table. He pinned her hands over her head with one hand and pulled her skirt up with the other.

“No, no, no…” She pleaded.

“Say the words!”

“No!”

She heard him unbuckle his belt and pants, then he roughly thrust into her. She screamed.

He stilled. “Oh, how sweet. You saved yourself for me,” he cooed to her, gently stroking her hair.

“Fuck you,” she spat at him.

“Ok,” he answered and started thrusting into her violently. She screamed over and over.

It went on for some time. He bit her hard on the shoulder and drew blood. He clawed her back, shredding her dress and her flesh. Finally, he stopped and stepped away from her. She slid off the table and collapsed on the floor at his feet.

“You can stop this at any time, Darling. Just say the words,” he said, panting down at her.

“No,” she said weakly, not looking up.

He grabbed her by the hair again and yanked he up. He dragged her out into the yard and threw her back on the ground. Then he stepped back and changed into his dragon form.

Like the man, the dragon was beautiful to behold. Gleaming white scales with ice blue edges and broad iridescent wings filled the space. He towered over her cabin and barn as he reared up and drew a breath. Flames leaped from his mouth and engulfed her chicken coop.

“NO!”

He turned to her and hissed “Say the words!”

She shook her head.

He took another breath and turned to her goat pen.

ENOUGH!

Rayne unleashed her beast completely and changed into her dragon form and flung herself at Beck. Golden scales collided with white, and both dragons rolled. She was smaller and lighter, but she was more agile and faster. She clawed and bit like her life depended on it. They fought for several minutes with neither getting the upper hand. Then her strength began to falter. She just couldn’t keep up the fight. She tried to take to the air to escape, but he leapt up and dragged her back down to the ground. He roared and bit down on her neck to hold her down as he mounted her again.

She screamed in fury and struggled under him but could not stop his violation. When he had enough tormenting her that way, his dragon continued to rain physical abuse on her until both her and her dragon retreated deep inside themselves and knew no more.

At some point the beating stopped. She had changed back into her human form and lay bleeding and broken on the ground at his feet. He looked down at her is disdain.

“This is how your life is going to be until you consent. Gather your stuff and be ready to leave tomorrow. And don’t think to run this time. I’ve tasted your blood now. I can find you anywhere you go. There is no escape.” Then he walked away. She didn’t watch   
him go. The sound of the helo barely registered.

Her farm was in flames around her. She could hear her goats screaming in fear and pain. She just put her head down on the ground and wept.

******End of Violence******


	6. Time After Time

Tristan couldn’t believe it when the stone slab slid shut between the two of them. He thought she was going to hide with him.

“Damnit, Rayne!” he yelled at the stone. She didn’t answer. He yelled for her several times and unsuccessfully tried to force the slab to open. He even tried to repeat the foreign words she had uttered to get it to open. Nothing worked. Frustrated, he turned and walked down the tunnel. Maybe there was an exit on the other end.

In the chamber, he stopped and looked around in wonder. Of all the things he had imagined being down here, this was nowhere close. Warm, golden light filled the room and glinted off gold and jewels hanging on the walls, shelves, and on top of cabinets. He walked slowly around the room, stopping to examine some of the objects. He paused in front of the diamond-headed arrow. He picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy, and he could see that it had been used; there was blood on the bindings of the head. He put it back.

He continued to make his way around the room and tripped on a heavy bag on the floor. He bent over and picked it up. Looking into it, he saw a heavy emerald and gold collar, a huge pearl on a heavy chain, and several other treasures along with a lot of gold coins. What game was Rayne playing? Was this why she was hiding from Beck? Was she a thief? He thought about what he knew of her and it didn’t seem to fit, but he hadn’t known her but a couple of days.

He paced while he waited for her to come and release him. He tried to listen for what was going on outside, but no sound could penetrate the stone walls around him. Finally, he sat down on the couch and started to sharpen his sword for something to do to pass the time.

He had no idea how long had passed, but he had honed his sword to a sharp edge as well as both his daggers and his utility knife, when he heard the stone slab scrap open. He jumped up and ran up the tunnel.

Rayne’s dark form was outlined in the entrance of the tunnel and he grabbed her arm and shook her, “What were you thinking?”

Her moan of pain stopped him, and he swept her up into his arms and carried her down to the chamber. She just hung limply in his arms. He laid her gently on the couch and knelt by her side. She was shocking to see. Her lip was split open in at least two places, her nose was broken, her cheek was split, and one of her eyes were swollen shut. She was covered with bruises and cuts and having a hard time breathing. He noticed that she was not wearing the same dress as before. He reached out to push her hair out of her face an she flinched away from him. He dropped his hand.

He stood up and went upstairs to get her medical supplies. He stopped in front of the open door of the cabin and looked out on the devastation. Everything was either burnt to the ground or still burning. No animals moved.

Anger boiled inside him. He might have been able to stop this if she had let him!

Back down in the treasure chamber, he gently treated her wounds as much as she would allow. She wouldn’t let him lift her dress to take care of any wounds under it, but he figured he could do those when she slept. She took some of the pain pills.

Before she drifted off, she whispered, “We have to leave this afternoon. He’s coming back in the morning.” Then her eyes closed, and she slept.

Only then did he lift her dress and see the full extent of her injuries. The blood on her thighs told him the rest of what happened to her. He gently cleaned and dressed the wounds on her back and buttocks, then smoother her dress back down and covered her with the soft blanket. Then he went back upstairs to see what he could salvage from her farm.

Two things were clear to him. He was going to kill Beck and Rayne was going back to Britain with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her!

****

Rayne woke up to pain. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as before, thanks to a combination of her healing abilities and the pain pills, but her injuries were severe. It was going to be a while before she didn’t hurt. Her back and ass felt like they were on fire, so riding a horse was completely out of the question.

There goes that plan.

Her dragon didn’t answer. She was still buried deep down inside. Rayne wished she could just check out too, but that wasn’t an option.

She slowly sat up and nearly passed out from the pain, so she lay back down. Instead, she carefully rolled off the couch onto the hands and knees on the floor. That was marginally better. From there she used the couch to rise shakily to her feet.

Tristan wasn’t in the chamber with her at the moment, so she had some privacy. Beck was coming back to collect his prize in the morning, she needed to have a plan in place by then. She wasn’t sure what that plan was going to be, but she knew two things.

One was that she had to get Tristan safely back to Camelot and the other was to kill Beck.

She shuffled slowly over to a cabinet and opened the second drawer down. She pulled out a nondescript brown vial about the length of her hand and as wide as two of her fingers. She wasn’t going to be able to accomplish anything in her current condition. This vial had been gifted to her over five hundred years ago by a powerful witch as thanks for a timely warning about some angry villagers. It was supposed to be a strong healing draught, but she had never used it. It might not even work. Hell, it might be nothing but dust after all these years. It didn’t matter, she had to try something.

She broke the wax seal around the top, pulled out the stopper and peered down into the vial. Well, it wasn’t dust at least. She sniffed it. Whoa! Why did healing draughts, tinctures, and teas always have to be so vile? She shrugged, winced at the motion, and then tipped up the vial and drank the thick oily mess down in two big gulps.

She had to fight the urge to gag. For a moment, nothing happened, then a burning sensation started in her gut and spread quickly throughout her body. She collapsed onto the floor.

She didn’t know how long it went on, but slowly the burning died down. She felt weak and nauseous, so she stayed on the floor.

“What are you doing?” a soft admonishment came from the entrance of the chamber. She looked up and saw Tristan standing there with his arms crossed across his chest, glowering at her.

“Well, technically, I’m not ‘up,’” she quipped, trying unsuccessfully for levity.

He cocked his head, strode across the space, then squatted in front of her, bringing his eyes almost level with hers. His frown grew deeper, if that was possible.

“You look…” he hesitated, “better. Much better.”

She held up the empty vial for his inspection. “It pays to have witches for friends.”

She used the chest to help herself stand, brushing off Tristan’s attempt to help. She still felt like shit, and she doubted she could make the ride even now.

“How bad is it out there?” She asked to distract him. He just shook his head silently. So her farm was gone. She supposed she should be grateful Beck hadn’t burned down the cabin also. Still, ten years of her life and all those innocent animals. Nothing deserved to die like that.

She roughly wiped the tears that threatened to fall away. “You need to get going so you won’t be here when he comes back.” She walked over to her bag and pulled out the diamond. She held it out to him. “Here. This will amplify any lingering magic where you came through and should be able to send you back to Camelot.”

He just stood there and looked at her. Stubborn man! She walked over to him and slapped the diamond against his chest. He reflexively grabbed it. “Take it and GO! I don’t want your death on my conscious!” She spun and walked over to the couch, her chest heaving and treacherous tears falling.

She heard a soft step behind her, then his hand touched her shoulder tentatively. She flinched but didn’t pull away from his touch, nor did she turn to face him. 

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

Her tears fell hot on her cheeks and she shook her head. “I can’t… I can’t ride yet, and we don’t have enough time to walk there before he’d catch us.”

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she reached up and covered it with hers.

“I will kill him.” A simple statement.

A mirthless laugh burst from her and she spun to face him. “No, you would die and then I would have to live with the knowledge that it was my fault.”

“He’s just a man. I have killed many.”

She spun around. “No, he’s NOT! You don’t understand what you have stumbled into! He is NOT a MAN!” She yelled the last part and beat her fist against his chest.

He grasped her hand and uncurled it, then brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “Then tell me what he is and how I can kill him.”

She sighed and leaned her head against his chest.

You need to accept help.

Welcome back!

Tell him.

She laughed softly.

“He leaned back and looked down at her questioningly, “What?”

Rayne pulled away from him. “There’s something I need to show you before you make up your mind to do this.”

“What?”

She didn’t answer as she turned and left the chamber.

****

Tristan followed her out of the cabin and out into the yard. The fires had quit burning, but the smell of smoke and other unpleasant things still filled the air. Rayne paused for a moment to take in the destruction, her hands fisting in her skirts. He stood back and let her have a moment.

He couldn’t believe the change in her when he had found her. She was still bruised and battered, but it looked like it had been a week, not hours, since her beating at the hands of Beck. Whatever was in that vial had worked wonders.

Tristan was not a Christian and still believed in the gods of his people, so he did not fear magic. It was a natural, though mysterious, part of the natural world around them. He had encountered hedge witches in his youth back in Sarmatia, but none were capable of that level of magic. Small charms, vague portents, weather predictions, yes. He had seen one heal a young boy with mortal wounds, but the process was long and slow, not the near instant recovery he had beheld in Rayne.

Finally, Rayne turned back to him. Her eyes were lined with red and trail from tears glistened on her cheeks. He wanted to cross to her and comfort her. She held up a hand, forestalling him.

“Before you decide to risk your life for me, you need to know the truth. About me. And about what we will be up against.”

She motioned him back and he took several steps back towards the cabin. He looked at her expectantly.

She closed her eyes and her form shimmered. It grew and stretched, becoming thicker and longer, her limbs lengthening. Her hands grew and long curved claws extended from their tips digging into the dirt beneath her. A long tail with a split, fanlike tip stretched out behind her. Her head rose on a graceful, sinuous neck, her face stretching into a mighty snout with razor sharp teeth the length of his hand. Finally, might wings spread from her shoulders, reaching for the sky and blocking the afternoon sun.

Her smooth golden skin grew rough and formed into diamond shaped scales that gleamed in the light. Her chest and belly were a pale iridescent amber that shaded to bright gold on her neck and sides. That gold deepened into an antique burnish and finally to a deep garnet along her spine. The leathery skin of her wings was the same iridescent amber of her underside, tipped with garnet colored claws.

She towered over him, easily the size of four horses. She lowered her massive head towards him, and he took a stumbling step back. Of all the things he had imagined she could show him, this was something awe inspiring and frightening. He struggled with his instinctive desire to turn and run.

She huffed a gentle breath at him. It was warm and smelled of unnamed spices. He forced himself to hold his ground this time as she drew near. She stopped when her head was level with his, her amber eyes with their catlike pupils regarding him unblinkingly.

“Well?” she asked. Her voice still distinctly feminine and Rayne’s, but low and sibilant.

In answer, he took a fortifying breath and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He slowly put out his hand and laid it lightly on the dark golden snout. Her scales were smooth and warm to the touch.

“You’re a dragon,” he stated simply.

She snorted, her breath ruffling his clothes and hair.

“Observant as always.”

He walked around her head to her side and reached out to touch her again, this time pausing to ask her permission. “May I?”

“Yesss,” she replied, raising her head to look down at him.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and trailed it down her side. He stopped at recently healed scars marring her smooth scales. They were long and ran down the length of her torso, four parallel rows of them. He looked back up at her. 

“Did he do this?”

“Yesss…”

Tristan nodded to himself. “So, he’s a dragon too?”

“Yesss,” she answered. “But males are much bigger than females and he’s older than me by several centuries.”

“Centuries?” He jerked his head back up to look at her, a frown on his face. “How old are you?”

Her sigh sounded like a deep hiss in her throat and she settled onto the ground, tucking her wings against her side, careful to avoid him. Her long neck curled around to rest her head on the ground near him.

“I was born in the year 798 in the Caucasus mountains, not far from your homeland. That would make me over twelve hundred years old.”

So many questions came to him. Would she know what happened to his people? He knew from their previous discussion that the legacy of Arthur and his knights only endured as half-truths and legends, but what of the hated Romans, the Saxons, and of Britain?

He opened his mouth to voice some of these questions only to stop himself short. They had other concerns at the moment. Did he still want to help her now that he knew she was a dragon and so was Beck? Did he still want to take her back to Camelot with him? Did he even want to go back anymore?

That last question caught him by surprise. The Camelot he had left was no longer the same place he had thought of as home. His king was descending into madness and his brothers in arms were scattered to the wind. He no longer felt comfortable there and found every excuse to be somewhere else. But what was there for him if not Camelot? The home of his childhood was a fleeting memory that did not call to his soul as it did in his youth. His parents were probably dead, and his siblings had families of their own. Would he be able to make a home there anymore, or had he changed beyond recognition, a foreigner in his own place of birth?

Where did he fit in? When he thought about it, he had felt more comfortable here with Rayne than he had felt in a long time. Was he brought here for a reason? Suddenly, he remembered the words of the Lady of the Lake.

“Beware the dragon,” he murmured. 

“What?” Rayne asked sharply, raising her head. “What did you just say?”

“Something I had forgotten about until now,” he answered and told her what the Lady had said.

“I wonder which dragon she was referring to?” Rayne mused.

“Maybe both of you?”

“Possibly.”

He walked back to stand in front of her again.

“So, how do you kill a dragon?”


	7. Nowhere to Run

He’s going to stay! 

Rayne was surprised and quietly pleased. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to stay until she waited through those agonizing moments for him to make his decision. Her heart had almost stopped when he uttered “Beware the dragon” for she had been sure he had decided to leave her to her fate.

There was something about the quiet, stoic knight that has wormed itself under her skin. And that kiss! She still got butterflies in her stomach when she recalled it, even now after Beck’s abuse.

Beck still might kill both of them, but they would go down fighting together!

“Can you fly?” He asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

She spread one wing out for him to inspect. It was healing quickly, but there were punctures and barely healed rips in the membrane and it had pulled loose from the digits supporting it in two places. The other wing wasn’t in much better shape.

“Not right now, I’m afraid,” she huffed.

“Ok, let me think.”

“I have something that might help,” she offered.

He nodded.

She changed back into her human form and walked past him into the cabin. Down in the treasure chamber, she went straight to the arrow on the wall and took it down. Before she left the chamber, she also went over to the cabinet that had held the healing draught. In the top drawer, she pulled out a beautifully crafted phial. It was made of delicately blown emerald glass shaped like a bird in flight. The bird’s eyes were rubies and gold had been used to paint its feathers in painstaking detail.

She took the arrow and phial back outside, grabbing up Tristan’s bow as she passed it. Tristan was waiting for her on the porch. She handed him the arrow and his bow. “Can you shoot this from your bow?”

“Yes.”

He took both from her and nocked the arrow. He turned and sighted the trunk on a tree on the edge of the forest, drew and released. The arrow buried itself in the trunk of the tree about two feet off the ground.

“Its heavy,” he remarked.

“Well, that’s better than what I could manage with it.”

He strode to the tree and had to work to dig out the arrow. He used his dagger to mark his target higher on the trunk and returned to the porch.

This time, she could see he was sighting higher than his target, and when the arrow thudded into the tree, it was only a hands width low of the mark. On his third try, the arrow flew true and hit the mark. She almost squealed and jumped up and down with excitement, instead she gave him a brilliant smile when he turned to face her.

She saw the effect her smile had on him immediately. His eyes darkened and he placed the bow on the table as he walked towards her slowly, like she was a wounded animal he was trying not to spook. She took a step back and met the rough timber of the cabin wall. He continued his approach until he was standing over her, only a breath separating their bodies. She didn’t take her eyes off his as he slowly bent his head and softly brushed his lips against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. He pulled back slightly from the caress and whispered against her cheek, “I will never hurt you.”

His hand came up and he tangled his fingers in hers at her side as he stepped away, pulling her with him. He sat down in the chair and gently pulled her down onto his lap. She perched there a moment looking into his dark eyes, then relaxed and leaned against his chest. His arms came up around her, holding her close but not tight. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent, and wrapped an arm around his neck. They sat like that until the sun dipped below the mountain and filled the valley with shadow.

****

They ate a simple dinner of canned goods while Rayne filled Tristan in on as much as she could. She explained the relationship between their human and dragon forms first. 

“Our human form is a magical manifestation of how we view ourselves. It is real, flesh and blood and can be injured just like a real human, as you have seen. It’s less fragile, though. We tend to be stronger and faster, also. Injuries to our human body don’t really translate over to our true dragon form, but they do have an impact. If they are severe enough, they can drain energy from the dragon, slow it down, distract it.”

“Can you be killed in human form?” he asked between bites of pickled beets.

“No, the worst that can happen is to become unconscious and helpless.”

“So, I have to kill the dragon.”

“And that won’t be easy. Our scales can withstand most weapons. Normal swords and arrows cannot penetrate them.”

“Normal?” he asked.

“Non magical or human made,” she clarified. “Bullets bounce off...”

“Bullets?”

“Um,” she paused, trying to think of how to explain modern weapons. “A bullet is like a very small arrow that is fired from a weapon called a gun at a very high speed. You will have to be careful with his security goons because they will carry guns that can fire many bullets in a short amount of time.” She had a thought. Getting up from the table, she walked over and picked up her tablet and typed in a query.

Walking back over to Tristan at the table, she handed him the tablet. “This is an example of what a gun looks like, so don’t let them point something that looks anything like this at you.” Tristan nodded as his eyes took in the picture on the tablet. “They can be big,” she used her hands to show him, “and held with both hands and they can be small enough to hold with just one hand. Understand, no matter how big they are, they can kill you just as fast an arrow or sword.” He nodded again.

“Back to killing a dragon,” she took a breath. It went against every instinct to tell a human how to kill one of her kind. After all, humans were the reason only Beck and herself were left. She picked up the diamond tipped arrow and handed it to him. “This was used to kill my… a dragon,” she hesitated to say it had slain her father. “So, I know it will kill Beck, but you have to hit the right place. Dragons are only vulnerable in a few places and only two of those would be a killing shot, where each wing connects to the shoulders. And that spot is only exposed when the wings are extended and flexed to their upper limit.”

“A difficult shot,” he mused, “but not impossible. What are the other vulnerable parts?”

“The back of the mouth, armpits, and groin,” she replied. “But they won’t be killing shots. Unless you use something like this.” With that, she placed the emerald phial on the table between them. Tristan’s brows drew together, and he reached for it. She stayed his hand with a touch and shook her head.

“What is it?”

“A very powerful poison. It is very old and was outlawed among our kind long before I was born. I found it in an ancient buried temple in India.”

“Why was it outlawed?”

“Because it was created by a dragon specifically to kill other dragons, and we had our hands full at the time dealing with humans hunting and killing us. It was unconscionable to think we would be attempting to help them annihilate us.”

“What does it do?”

“I only have stories and legends to go by, but from what I heard is that it turns a dragon to stone from the inside out, starting with the heart.”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” she shook her head slowly.

“What would it do to me?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “But that’s all I have that can help.”

“What about this?” Tristan asked, pulling out the Mogul diamond. “You said it amplifies magic.”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed getting up from the table. “You will need that to be able to return to your home.”

“Will it help kill Beck?” he insisted.

“It depends,” she hedged.

He just looked at her.

“It depends on the magic that it amplifies,” she threw her hands up.

“What other magic do you have, then?”

“What? Me?” she laughed. “Oh, I only have a tiny bit of magic, nothing that could be used to kill Beck.” She plopped back down in her chair with a defeated air. “It’s getting late and we still don’t have a plan for the morning.”

This time, Tristan smiled, “Yes, we do.”

****

The next morning came all too soon. Tristan and Rayne had finally stopped for a few hours of sleep just a few hours before dawn. Rayne didn’t know exactly when he would arrive, but they had to be ready. After a quick breakfast of canned apples and cured ham, they continued their preparations. 

One aspect hinged on the fact that, last Beck and his team were in the valley, they only encountered Rayne. His security detail would probably not be as thorough or cautious this time. Or at least that was what they hoped.

When they had done all that they could do to prepare, Tristan belted on his sword and daggers, looped his bow over his shoulders, and put the arrow in his quiver. Rayne had given him some of her arrows for good measure but had kept most for herself. He carefully tucked the vial of poison into his bag. Together, they walked out onto the porch and surveyed what was left of her farm.

“I worked hard to make this my home, even though I was hiding. I was happy here,” Rayne said sadly.

“You can rebuild,” he replied looking at her.

“I could. I don’t know if I want to, though. If we don’t succeed, it really doesn’t matter.”

“We will,” he assured her.

“If we do, then I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t know what I will do. There’s a whole world out there.” Rayne waved her hand vaguely. She had loved her farm and the simplicity of the life she led there, but she wasn’t sure if she had it in her to start over again. If she was truthful, she was lonely. Having Tristan around the last few days had made her realize how much she had missed having someone else around to talk to and share things with. Since she was the last of her kind, once Beck was out of the picture, she would have to reevaluate what she really wanted. She just wasn’t ready to face it quite yet. She was having a hard time believing they would succeed, but she knew she had to try. She couldn’t just give up and meekly go with Beck. And now she wasn’t sure if she could stand by and watch Tristan disappear back into history.

“You will figure it out. You’re stronger than you think.”

She snorted softly.

He started down the steps and stopped on the last one to turn and meet her eyes. “Just keep him occupied until I’m finished. Don’t let him catch you if you can help it.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on it,” she gave him a grim smile. “Good hunting.”

He just turned and walked into the forest. As he disappeared, Rayne shivered. She was sure that was the last time she would ever see him.


	8. Point of No Return

Rayne had been pacing restlessly on the porch when she finally heard the noise that she was both eager to hear and dreaded. The helicopter was approaching. She took a few deep breaths to steady her racing heart. This was it. The only thing she had to do was keep Beck occupied and not get caught.

No problem.

Right.

She stepped off the porch when she heard the helo land and set herself up behind the blind they had made last night in the destroyed goat pen. The smell of burnt, dead animals and smoke should obscure her scent long enough to do what she needed to do.

She saw the moving shadows in the forest that indicated Becks men were getting into place, then she tensed as she saw him coming through the foliage. Once again, he stepped out of the cover of the forest and looked around with an arrogant look. He looked towards the cabin and, not seeing her immediately, shook his head and started in that direction.

“Rayne!” he called out.

When she didn’t reply, he stopped. “Rayne!” he demanded in a louder voice and waited.

“You know you can’t hide from me! We know how this is going to end, and you aren’t going to like it!” He said confidently as he started towards the porch again. As his foot touched the bottom step, he paused and stiffened. Rayne knew her element of surprise was about to slip away, so she stood, raised her bow, and fired her first arrow.

It caught Beck in the shoulder. He cursed and spun towards her as she released her second arrow. He managed to dodge this one.

“You stupid bitch!” he hissed at her. “You want to play rough, let’s play rough!” And he reached up and broke off the arrow’s shaft and flung it aside. Two of him men had emerged from the tree line and had their weapons trained on her. Beck motioned them to stand down and lunged towards her.

Rayne dropped the bow and dashed into the trees behind her.

Don’t get caught.

****

Tristan watched the helicopter approach and land from his vantage place in a tree. Rayne had tried to explain what a helicopter was last night, but he wasn’t really able to picture the flying machine. Now, her descriptions made more sense. He watched as the security team exited the machine and fanned out before Beck stepped out. He instantly knew it was Beck, not just from Rayne’s description of him, but from the absolute confidence he exuded. He turned his attention back to the others; Beck was not his problem yet. He had to trust that Rayne could hold up her end of the plan.

There were five men on the security team. He studied them carefully as they made their way across the small clearing towards him. Rayne had been right; they were not being overly careful. He also noted the weapons that they were carrying. All but one had large guns that required both hands to operate. The last man was carrying a smaller version and was directing the others. He was in charge.

Two of them passed directly under him as they advanced towards the cabin, but the others were still too close for him to be able to act just yet, so he waited for them to pass and disappear into the underbrush before he left his perch. He peered up and located Isolde circling overhead. She was to follow Rayne so he could find her when the first part of the plan was complete.

He dropped silently to the ground and followed the men. As they got to the farm, they spread out around it, effectively isolating themselves from each other. Tristan crept up behind the man closest to him. There wasn’t time to be very strategic, he just needed to dispatch them as quickly as possible and then go to Rayne’s aid. He pulled his dagger as he got closer. His feet made no sound in the undergrowth and the man never heard him until Tristan’s dagger slashed across his exposed throat. Tristan lowered him gently to the ground and examined what he was wearing. Rayne had explained that they would be wearing some kind of armor that his sword and arrows would not penetrate. He quickly found all the weak points that exposed the flesh underneath to his blades and arrows: the neck, arms, armpits, groin and upper thighs. Now he knew where to target. Not much different than armor from his time. Even better, they didn’t wear anything stiff or padded under the armor that would impede his blade.

He left the man on the ground and moved on to his next target. He needed to hurry.

****

Rayne was literally running for her life. She knew she couldn’t outrun Beck in a straight race, not in her human form, but she was smaller and more agile. Plus, she knew every tree and rock in this valley. This was her home. Her turf. She dodged in and out of trees, down gullies, around rocks; anything to keep distance between the two of them. She still wasn’t one hundred percent though and she could already feel the strain of her flight on her body.

You can do this!

She dashed into another narrow gully and past a large boulder. She slowed as she went by it and kicked a pile of smaller rocks that were holding the bolder in place. Last night she and Tristan had dug out around the bottom of it and placed the pile for this reason. The boulder toppled from its position and filled the entire gully from side to side. Beck would either have to climb over it, scale the wall of the gulley, or backtrack. Any way would slow him down and extend her lead over him. As she sped out of the gully, she heard his angry shout behind her and grinned.

Yes!

She ran down a small stream and veered to her left looking for their next surprise for her opponent.

****

Four down. Tristan had yet to encounter the leader as he made his way around the edge of the farm. Through the canopy of leaves, he could occasionally make out Isolde in the clear blue sky above. Rayne was somewhere up on the east side of the valley south of him. Off to his right there was a rustle and he paused to look and listen. He heard the slight sound of a rock tumbling. He didn’t see the man, but he had to be up ahead on the other side of a thick clump of bramble. He crept towards his target and crouched to the side of the bushes to peer through the leaves.

“Drop your knife slowly,” said a firm voice from behind him as he felt something hard and unyielding against the back of his head.

He placed the knife on the ground and a foot shot out to kick it out of his reach.

“Put your hands on your head and stand up,” came the next command.

Tristan did as he was told.

“Put both your hands behind your back.” He cuffed Tristan’s hands behind his back.

“Now turn around slowly.”

Tristan turned to face him. The leader of the team had backed away out of his reach and had his gun pointed at the center of his chest. 

“I should just shoot you and be done with it,” he snarled at Tristan grabbing him by the arm and shoved him roughly towards the farm.

Tristan remained silent, just watching the man intently. Looking for any weakness or opening.

****

Rayne was tiring and Beck was gaining on her. She could hear the pounding of his feet behind her as he drew closer to her each passing minute. Where was Tristan? They had agreed to meet in the pasture with the two horses because there was more room to maneuver. She made the decision to head that way before she became too tired and Beck caught up with her. She had one more trick set up between them and the horses, if she could get to it, she might could put some more distance between them. She turned and ran that direction.

Running down a straight trail littered with debris from the trees, she made sure she stayed to the right side. There! There was the rock she was watching for! She stepped on it and pushed off hard landing about four feet on the other side of it. Her leg muscles were trying to cramp up and her still bruised ribs sent a sharp pain through her body. She was starting to have problems catching her breath, but she pushed on. Behind her, she heard a grunt and the sound of a heavy landing, then the continued pounding of feet.

It didn’t work!

She kept running towards the pasture.

****

Back at the farm, Tristan knelt on the ground as the team leader paced and waited on Beck. Suddenly, there was a crackling, and a breathless voice spoke, “Clint, are you there?”

The man, Clint, reached up to a device clipped to the shoulder of his armor near his neck, “Yes, sir.”

“Come up to that opening where we saw the horses,” said the voice between pants.

“Yes, sir!”

Clint walked over to Tristan and kicked him on the leg. “Get up, we’re going for a walk.”

****

Raye heard him on the radio and her heart dropped. Tristan had failed. It was up to her now. She had a backup plan, but it was shaky at best. Still she had to give it her best shot. She had to go down fighting.

She took her eyes off the path momentarily to look behind her trying to get a glimpse of Beck and she stumbled on a rock in her path and went down hard, scraping her hands and knees badly. She pushed back up to continue but was hit by a heavy weight from behind that drove her back down to the ground and driving her breath out of her.

“I’m going to make you pay for running, Rayne,” Beck’s voice panted in her ear.

His weight lifted off her and a rough hand grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. She reached back to fight his grip on her, but he slapped her hard. She stopped struggling and just stood there gasping for breath and looked him in the eyes. They were hard and cold, the corners creased with angry lines.

“What do you think you gained by doing this?” he asked, shaking her by her hair.

“Did you think I was going to make this easy?” she retorted.

“Actually, yes,” he looked genuinely surprised. “I would have thought you’d had enough of this game by now.”

“It's not a game to me,” she said between clenched teeth.

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” he bit out. “You are either going to submit to me, or I’m just going to kill you. Hell, I don’t even remember why I want you so badly anymore. Our kind is gone anyway.”

With that, he dragged her still struggling up the path and out of the forest into the pasture. He flung her down on the ground at his feet and told her to stay. When she defiantly tried to get up, he kicked her in her ribs, she felt one snap at the impact. The pain exploded through her and her vision swam. She shut her eyes and waited for it to recede. When she had regained some control, she opened her eyes and glared up at Beck, but he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore.

“What the fuck?” he snarled as Tristan walked into the open with one of Beck’s men behind him. Rayne saw that his hands were shackled behind his back and the man had his belt with his sword and knives sheathed along with his bow and quiver.

“This asshole took out my whole team with just this,” the man tossed the weapons on the ground between them and Beck. Beck bent down and unsheathed the sword. He turned it in his hand and tested its weight, then turned back to Rayne.

“A friend of yours?” She didn’t answer. She decided to just lay there and not antagonize him for a moment until she could figure out a new plan.

Beck came over to her and crouched by her side. He leaned forward to sniff her and jerked back with an evil smirk. “I can smell him all over you. You would lower yourself to rut with a dirty human and say no to me?” He stood up and kicked her again in anger. Bloody froth shot from her mouth as she clutched her side. “At least I know I had you first.”

“Watch her,” he told the guy pointing the sword at her. “If she moves, shoot her some place painful.” He stopped abreast of the man as they traded places, “DO. NOT. Kill her,” he ground out.

“Yes, sir,” the man acknowledged and walked over to stand over Rayne.

Beck strode over to Tristan, who was watching him silently.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” Beck asked as he walked around Tristan. He reached out and thumped his hand against the boiled leather tunic. “Are you one of those idiots, what are they called, Clint? Those guys that like to pretend they are in a game and pretend fight?”

“Larpers, I think,” Clint answered.

“Yeah, Larpers. Are you one of those?” He prodded Tristan to get a response.

Tristan didn’t answer. He just met Beck’s eyes when he came back around to stand in front of him.

“Nice sword, though,” Beck said, swinging it back and forth swiftly, making a swooshing noise through the air with it. He swung again and a bloody line appeared on Tristan’s left cheek. Another swing and one appeared on his upper right arm. “Really nice. I think I’ll add it to my collection after I kill you with it.”

Clint was focused on what Beck was doing and not paying any attention to her at the moment. A plan had formed, and it was time to act on it. She focused her energy, muttered a small incantation, and made a subtle motion with her fingers. 

Beck sensed it immediately and spun to her in anger. “What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled and started towards her.

Tristan realized that the cuffs on his wrists were no longer locked and slipped out of them. He lunged forward, grabbing Beck by the shoulder and spinning him around as he swung and punched him hard in the face. Then he chopped Beck’s wrist to force him to drop the sword. When that didn’t happen, the two of them began to grapple for possession of the weapon.

Rayne also made her move at that moment while Clint was still distracted. She grabbed the knife out of her boot and stabbed him in the thigh with it.

“You fucking Bitch!” Clint yelled at her bring his gun up to shoot her. She dove to the side and his leg slowed him down enough that his bullet went wide. Ignoring the pain in her side, Rayne swiped his legs with hers to bring him down, his injured leg helping her to succeed. On the ground, he rolled quickly on to his back, but she was faster and was on him, straddling him and grabbing for the gun.

Rayne might have been smaller and lighter than Clint, but she was still a dragon, so she was strong, even injured. She was beginning to get the upper hand in the struggle for the weapon when Clint punched her hard in her injured rib. She gasped and let go of the gun. He kicked her off him and aimed the gun at her, a killing shot, Beck’s warning be damned. A shrill shriek echoed through the valley, and a bundle of golden-brown feathers and fury dropped out of the sky and attacked Clint’s face. Rayne was forgotten as he brought his hands up to fight off the hawk. She took advantage of the diversion to lung forward and stab her dagger into his abdomen below his armor and slash all the way across it, opening him up from side to side. His pink bowels slowly protruded from the gash and he dropped to his knees. Isolde ceased her attack and flew back into the sky with a triumphant cry.

Clint dropped the gun and used both hands to try to hold in his organs and looked at Rayne in panic. She stepped forward, grabbed the gun off the ground and fired one quick shot into his head, killing him instantly. Then she turned her attention to the other two combatants.

Tristan and Beck were still locked in a struggle for the sword, neither seeming to be able to get the upper hand. Rayne held up the gun and tried to get a good shot on Beck, but Tristan was always in the line of fire. She circled looking for a better position, gun held ready.

Finally, she saw an opening and fired, catching Beck in the calf. He yelped and loosened his grip on the sword enough for Tristan to wrench it from him and then punch him in the face with it’s guard. Beck staggered back putting room between him and his opponent.

Beck stood there looking at the two of them. Using the back of his hand, he wiped the blood off his face from the punch. He almost growled and then used his magic to summon his own sword and snatched the gun out of Rayne’s hands. He flung the gun far into the forest and faced Tristan. “Let’s see how you do with someone who knows what they are doing,” and raised his sword in a challenge.

Tristan took that opportunity and attacked. He was thing of dangerous beauty to watch as he danced with the sword. Beck was also a master swordsman and stronger, but his swings and blows were all power and anger while Tristan’s were purposeful and swift. Tristan would wait for Beck to lung or swing, dodge or parry him, and then use Beck’s recovery to strike a blow. Slash after slash appeared on Beck, while he only managed to score one other hit on Tristan, on his hip. The sword bit deep but was stopped by bone, nonetheless, it must have been painful, and it bled a lot. Rayne could see that it was bothering Tristan, because he quit pivoting on that leg. Beck noticed also and pressed it to his advantage.

Beck got his chance when Tristan spun during one of Beck’s brutal attacks and stumbled. Beck’s sword slashed down across Tristan’s back from shoulder to hip. As he fell to the ground, Beck moved in for the final blow to finish him.

“NO!” Screamed Rayne and jumped on Beck’s back and stabbed him in the shoulder with her dagger. Beck flung her off and turned back to Tristan, just as he lunged forward and run his sword through Beck.

Beck staggered back looking at the sword protruding through his chest in wonder. Then he looked up at Rayne, who had run to Tristan’s side and put his arm over her shoulder to support him. Beck snarled in anger.

“Enough of this!” And with both his hands, he pulled the sword from his body and tossed it to the ground. His body shimmered and he began to change into his dragon form.

Rayne darted forward and snatched his sword off the ground and handed it back to him. “Try to make it to the tree line. Stay out of the line of his fire. I will try to keep him occupied.”

Tristan nodded and hurried towards the forest, moving slower than normal because of his injuries.

Rayne willed herself to change into her dragon form and rose to meet the angry white dragon in the middle of the field.

****

Tristan was hurting, but he wasn’t mortally wounded, so he pushed himself into a run towards the trees. Behind him, he heard the roar of a dragon answered by the roar of another. He had to get to the bow and arrow before Beck was able to overcome Rayne. Once in the shelter of the forest, he turned to look at the dragons. Beck towered over Rayne, nearly twice her size. Tristan made himself look away and run for the other side of the pasture, staying hidden in the forest.

When he got to his destination, he could see the bow and arrow laying out in the field, but both dragons were almost on top of it in their battle. The fight between the two was savage to watch. They fought with teeth and claws. Battered each other with their wings and tail. Rayne had a grip on Becks shoulder with her teeth while her front claws tried to pin down his wings and her powerful back claws raked his back, leaving long silvery gashes. Rayne’s tail accidentally knocked it closer to him in the woods. Or was it intentional? He wasn’t going to question his luck. He waited for an opening, but Rayne was tiring fast.

Beck roared and turned his head to grab Rayne bay her long, slender neck just behind her head and ripped her free of his shoulder. He flung her to the side and rolled on top of her as they tumbled across the field. He landed on top of her, his grip still on her neck and raised a claw to slash her unprotected underside.

Tristan raced forward and picked up the bow and nocked an arrow. He released it but it bounced off Becks hard scales on his head. He had known it wouldn’t work, but he had to distract the angry dragon.

It worked. Beck paused and released Rayne, turning his head towards Tristan. “Soooo, you aren’t a coward...” he growled and turned away from Rayne. Tristan fired another arrow, this time it buried itself in the soft tissue between the dragon’s nostrils and mouth. Beck roared and the next arrow found purchase in the dragon’s tongue.

Beck was enraged and reared up to unleash his dragon fire on the upstart human, only to be tackled from behind by Rayne. He viciously knocked her aside, sending her sliding across the field. She lay still and quiet.

Beck started to turn back to Tristan, raising up and flexing his mighty wings. It would be over in seconds. 

Tristan dropped the broken vial to the ground at his feet, nocked the diamond arrow that dripped the deadly poison, took aim and, whispering a quiet request to his gods, released the arrow. It flew true and buried itself deep in the joint below the dragon’s wing. Beck roared in anguish. His wings beat, buffeting Tristan and knocking him off his feet. Instead of falling, though, the dragon took a breath. He was going to kill this human no matter what. Tristan watched in fascination as the flames rolled up the back of the gaping mouth and over the tongue and teeth. He covered his face, waiting on the scorching death he knew was coming.

But it never came. He peered over his raised arm and saw a peculiar sight. The flames had died out and the dragon was screaming. He watched as stone replaced flame in the dragon’s mouth and spread across its face and head. Iridescent white and blue scales turned flat and grew one after another as the change spread down the dragon’s neck to its body. Its claws scratched at the stone ineffectively and then stilled as they, too, changed. The stone continued to down the dragon’s body and finally, to the tip of its tail.

When it was over, there was a large stone dragon in the field, its head stretched out, mouth wide, wings spread like it was about to take flight.

Tristan dropped the bow and went around what was left of Beck to stand by Rayne’s side. He placed his hand on her and felt her slow, but shallow breathing. She was alive. He went to her head and crouched. One of her eyes opened.

“Did it work?” She asked wearily.

He just nodded and sat down beside her, stroking her snout and head.

“I need a vacation,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”


	9. Heat of the Moment

Weeks passed. They took their time recovering from the battle with Beck. Rayne sleeping with her hoard and Tristan in her bed. They had developed an easy relationship and enjoyed each other’s company during their convalescence. Tristan told her about Camelot, and she told him about her parents and her travels. 

Last week, Tristan felt well enough to go hunting for fresh meat, because both were sick of Rayne’s dwindling supply of cured and smoked meats. That night, they feasted on fresh grouse. Afterwards, they sat in restful silence and listened to the sounds of the forest around them. When the moon rose, Rayne got up to go to bed. As she passed Tristan, he reached out and took her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. He looked up and their eyes met and held for long seconds. Then she curled her fingers around him and pulled him out of his chair to follow her into the cabin.

Inside the cabin, the soft moonlight lit the room so there was no need for the lamp. Rayne stopped in front of the bed and turned to him. He moved close to her and reached up to gently cup her cheek with his calloused hand. She leaned into his touch. His other hand wound around her waist and pulled her gently to him until they stood touching from chest to thigh. Her head barely coming to the top of his shoulders. She had to tilt it back to look up at him. He bent and kissed her softly, his breath a ghost on her lips. She reached up and wrapped one of her hands around the back of his neck and placed the other on his chest to feel the beating of his heart. It was strong and steady under her palm.

He deepened his kiss and she melted against him, his strong arms holding her up. She opened her mouth to him, and he swept his tongue in playing with hers. He tasted of smoke and their meal and she didn’t find it disagreeable. It made the caress more visceral.

His hand slipped under the edge of her shirt and up the smooth skin of her side, stopping at the curve of her breast. His thumb caresses the underside and she moaned into his mouth. In response, he cupped the entire globe, his palm rough across her sensitive nipple. She leaned into his touch. His other hand left her face to lift her shirt away from her body. Rayne stiffened and pulled away from him. He looked at her questioningly.

“Too soon,” he stated simply.

“No,” she shook her head. “I want this. I want you. But it’s not that simple. There’s something I need to explain to you before we can…” she paused, “do this.”

“Then explain.”

She sat down on the bed and he sat beside her and picked up her hands that she was twisting in her lap. “Tell me,” he said.

She ducked her head, suddenly shy. She never thought she would have to explain this to anyone and didn’t know where to begin. She took a fortifying breath, “Dragons mate for life. And it has to be consensual. Both the male and the female must agree to the mating. That’s why Beck just couldn’t take me and make me his mate. He could make my life a living hell, but he could never be my mate unless I agreed.”

Tristan squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue. “Before mating is official, neither male of female dragons can...,” she hesitated.

“Fully enjoy the act,” he supplied for her.

“Exactly. They can derive pleasure from it but can’t actually have an orgasm.”

He let go of her hands with one of his and reached up to tip her face up to meet his eyes. He leaned his forehead against hers. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to enjoy it completely. With you.” There, she said it.

“Are you saying you want me to be your mate?”

She shut her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed.

He kissed each closed eyelid and then her lips. “I want that also.”

She pulled back and looked at him in amazement. “You do?”

He grinned at her. “I don’t battle fire-breathing dragons for every damsel in distress I come across.” She giggled and threw her arms around him.

“I choose you, Sir Tristan, knight of the round table, to be my mate.” She kissed him with abandon.

When she let him pull away, he responded, “and I choose you, Ryane, beautiful, fierce, fire-breathing dragon, to be my mate.” He pulled her back into him for another kiss. 

This time when he reached for her shirt, she helped him pull it over her head, then pulled his leather tunic off. Bare chested they faced each other in the moonlight, just drinking in the sight. Once more, he palmed her breast, rolling the puckered shell pink nipple gently between his fingers. He watched her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch. He bent his head and kissed her neck where it met her collarbone and nipped it. She let out a hissing breath and leaned her head to the side to give him better access. He licked the spot and she shivered. Standing straight, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him. His hands skimmed her waist, and he hooked his thumbs under the edge of her skirt. He pulled it down and let it drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She stood in front of him in nothing but a pair of lacy panties. He rubbed his fingers over the triangle of lace.

“I like these,” he said and leaned forward to kiss her lace covered mound. He quickly peeled them over her hips, though, and they joined the skirt on the floor. Then he placed a kiss on each of the hollows of her hips and finally her bare mound. He breathed in her scent. She smelled like sunshine and the forest after a rainstorm.

Leaning back, he pulled her down into his lap so that she straddled him. He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her. Her mouth opened willingly to him and their tongues dueled and stroked the insides of each other’s mouths. She ran her hands down his chest and lightly scratched it with her nails, in response, he tweaked one of her nipples, making her whimper into his mouth. He pulled away from the kiss and dropped his head to her breast and took her nipple into his mouth. She arched her back and ground her hips against him. He licked and sucked the nipple while rolling the other between his fingers. She made a soft sound in protest when his hand left her nipple.

He deftly twisted his body and lay her on the bed with him suspended over her on his elbow. His free hand smoothed down her stomach and then covered her mound. She bucked under his hand and he raised his head to look at her. Her breasts and chest were flushed pink, her head was thrown back and her eyes were shut. Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth and her hands were fisted in the blanket on the bed. She was beautiful. And she was his.

She sensed him and opened her eyes to look at him. They glimmered silver in the moonlight. She smiled at him and he smiled back, then slid his hand lower and slid his fingers through her soft wet center while holding her gaze. She hissed and pressed herself into his hand. He leaned down to take her mouth as his thumb rubbed the tender nub. She grasped his shoulders and moaned into him as he slid a finger into her. She was so hot and tight around his finger. He pulled it out, only to slowly slide it back in with a second finger. Her nails bit into his shoulder as she strained against him. He pumped his fingers in and out of her while circling her clit. He felt her start to shudder against him and curled his fingers inside of her to hit her sweet spot. Her body clenched around his fingers and she cried her release into his mouth.

When she quit contracting around him and fell back into the bed, he withdrew his hand and stood up to remove his boots and pants. She watched him languidly from the bed. When he was naked, he stood there for a moment and let her look at him. His chest had numerous scars and tattoos, but its was wide and muscular and tapered down to narrow hips. His manhood jutted out proudly from a wild patch of dark hair, a drop of moisture at its tip.

“You are beautiful,” she sighed and held out her hand to pull him back into the bed with her.

“Men aren’t beautiful,” he retorted.

“You are,” she smiled and smoothed his hair out of his eyes.

He positioned himself between her legs. She pulled them up and wrapped them around his hips and could feel him at her entrance. He maintained eye contact with her as he slowly pushed into her warm heat, stopping when he was completely sheathed in her. 

As he slowly withdrew, she shut her eyes and tried to use her legs to keep him inside of her. Instead he gripped her hips and withdrew almost completely before thrusting back into her. 

“Yes,” she cried.

He began to thrust in and out of her in a steady rhythm, her hips rising to meet each thrust. As her hips bucked harder, he increased his speed and hooked one of his arms under her leg to bend it closer to her body and get a different angle. 

Flesh meeting flesh. Moans and hoarse breaths. The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking.

“Tristan!” she cried out, stiffening as her orgasm took her. That was all he needed for his to follow, and his strokes became erratic as he pumped his hot seed into her.

He collapsed on top of her, only his arms holding his weight off her body. He buried his face in her neck and nuzzled her. Her arms came up and wrapped around his waist.

“My mate,” she sighed.

“My mate,” he answered.

****

They were loading their belongings on a pair of the oddest horses Tristan had ever seen. One was white gelding with black spots all over it. She called him Spot. He rolled his eyes when she told him, giggling. The other was also white, but with large patches of bay and one lone bay circle around his left eye. Izre was the name of the stallion. She explained it meant hand in the language of her homeland and showed him a spot on the horse’s front leg that looked like a hand. He had never seen horses like this, and she assured him that they didn’t exist in his time. They were a product of the new world. He didn’t know what that meant but didn’t ask.

Rayne’s pack was heavy. He had insisted that she pack more of her hoard than she originally planned, and she happily obliged. She hated leaving the bulk behind but knew it would still be there when she returned in twelve hundred years. That was, if everything went as planned. She still didn’t know if the magic or the Mogul diamond would work.

They had slept outside under the stars that night. Rayne had razed the house and any surrounding bits that survived the fire, so that it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. They had spread leaves and dead limbs around the clearing to disguise the scar. Earlier that day, she had destroyed the stone remains of Beck. He was nothing but a random pile of stone in a field now. Someone looking close might could see odd details like scales and any eye, but from a distance it wouldn’t garner any attention.

They started out as soon as the horses were loaded, Rayne leading them expertly up the valley to the location he had described to her. A day of steady riding brought them to the small clearing as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The air was heavy and moist, and a mist hung close to the ground. They dismounted from their horses and lead them into the clearing. Rayne dug into her saddle bag for the Mogul diamond and held it aloft. There was a tiny twinkle in its depths, but nothing more. They stood in the clearing for few moments waiting.

“Is anything supposed to happen?” Tristan asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before. YOU are the time traveler, not me. What did you experience?” 

He shrugged. “Nothing. I just made camp and went to sleep. Then I woke up here.”

“Ok, then we make camp and spend the night.”

Decision made, they unloaded and tethered the horses to keep them in the clearing. Tristan started a small fire to ward off some of the dampness in the air and they had a dinner of canned stew. They settled down and drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Isolde watched from a nearby branch.

****

The next morning was bright and full of the sounds of the forest. They woke and looked around them. They were not in the little clearing in the mountains anymore. Instead, they were on flat ground in a forest that was vastly different.

“Holy shit!” Rayne exclaimed. “It worked!”

Tristan stood and helped her to her feet, grinning. One of the horses snorted and stamped his foot. “The horses made it.”

In the distance, there was a whinny followed by hoofbeats. Tristan whistled and his war horse cantered into sight. It came up to him and leaned its head into his chest. Tristan rubbed his jaw and neck, “Missed me, huh?”

Overhead, Isolde called, and Tristan held out his arm for the bird to land. “We’re home!”

They quickly loaded the horses back up; this time Spot got all of their gear since Tristan was going to ride his horse. They left the clearing and headed back to Camelot. As they rode, Tristan told Rayne more about his home and his worry for Arthur.

“He is obsessed with this Holy Grail,” he said. “It is driving him mad.”

Rayne looked at him and grinned.

“What?”

“I happen to know where it is.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Looks like we are going on a quest then!”


	10. Epilogue

November 2019

Rayne sat in the cafe and sipped her tea, a half-eaten salad with pickled beets on the table in front of her. She looked at the tinted window and watched the traffic on the street. She was starting to show her age. There were fine lines in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. Her hands looked almost frail holding the teacup. She had a few extra pounds and was softer around her middle now and her pale hair hid the gray she was beginning to see. But she was still a beautiful, graceful woman that drew the attention of men and women whenever she entered a room.

Something on the television caught her attention. A somber young man was talking about how his small, upstart pharmaceutical company was pioneering a new delivery system for a cancer fighting agent. She had finally passed beyond her knowledge of the future, so she didn’t know if he had succeeded or not. Maybe she would call her solicitor tomorrow and have him contact this young man and see if she could contribute. It seemed worthwhile. She had plenty of money to spare. Knowing the future had its perks when it comes to investing.

“Nana?”

She turned her gaze back to her companion. “Sorry, my mind wanders now days. What did you say dear?” 

The young lady seated across from her just smiled, “it wasn’t important, Nana. It’s almost time for you to leave anyway, if you want to be on time.” Her dark eyes twinkled at Rayne. Her hair wasn’t as pale as Rayne’s but with her dark eyes, she was striking.

“He can wait,” she responded, taking another sip of her tea.

“Only you could get away with that!” the young woman laughed.

“You’re right, though,” Rayne said, setting down her teacup. “I need to get going. The traffic is terrible this time of day.”

The woman walked around the table and gave Rayne a hug and kiss on the cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you too, dear. Give your mother my love when you see her.”

“I will, Nana. Bye,” and she waved at Rayne as she left the cafe. 

Her driver opened the door for her and gave her a hand into the back of the car. When he got into the car, he asked, “On our way to see him?”

“Yes, no need to keep him waiting. He can get testy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

****

Rayne followed the footman down the long hallway, her heels sinking into the deep carpet. At a heavy ornate door, they stopped, and the footman knocked to announce their presence. He stepped in and stood to the side to allow her to enter. “The Duchess of Warwick,” he announced to the lone occupant in the room. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Arthur. How is your day going?” she asked him walking to the desk.

Arthur VII, King of Great Britain, turned from the window he was staring out. “It has been a nightmare. The American president has threatened to place tariffs on our exports to the US. Can you believe that?” He came around the desk and kissed her cheek. “How was your trip? Did you recover your precious treasure?”

“It was good, and, yes, I did find my hoard. Thank you.”

The king motioned for her to sit and returned to his side of the desk. “Well, it is good to have you back in Camelot where you belong, Rayne. Now, let’s talk about the state of my treasury ...”

****The End****


End file.
